


Mind Magic

by Snickerdoodlepop



Series: Harry Potter and the Search for Ancient Magic [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Dark!Voldemort, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Humor & Angst, Multi, No character bashing, Political!Harry, Possessive Voldemort, Soul Magic, Well-Meaning Dumbledore, Wizengamot, light!harry, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2019-07-12 12:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 135,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15994781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickerdoodlepop/pseuds/Snickerdoodlepop
Summary: Severus Snape has a change of heart. In an attempt to keep Potter alive, he tells the Dark Lord all about Dumbledore's plans for Potter and the war. Once Voldemort realizes that Harry Potter is his horcrux, his plans change drastically. So does Draco Malfoy's assignment for the school year.Harry's sixth year starts going very differently. Snape is now on a mission to discover why Harry was so ignorant of the Wizarding World. Harry is going to need to learn pureblood politics if he's going to keep up with everything. Draco Malfoy needs to find a way to convince Harry to forgive him. Voldemort finds himself visiting Harry Potter in his dreams. Everyone is realizing that no one is quite what they thought.And through it all, there's a mystery. What is Ancient Magic? Why is it so powerful and so hard to control? And why did Professor Dumbledore go out of his way to make it illegal?





	1. Body, Mind, and Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the World of JK Rowling, or any of these lovely (and not so lovely) characters.  
> This is purely for fun with no profit.
> 
> Warning: This is a very slow burn, with most of the story being a build up to an eventual romance. However, there will eventually be steamy scenes, and the ultimate pairing is Harry Potter/ Tom Riddle (Voldemort) so if that's not what you're looking for, please look elsewhere.

***  
Prologue  
***

It was a bright, clear day in early August and the sun beat down on Harry Potter’s head, making his brow glisten. Yet, that wasn’t the reason he asked Ron and Hermione to slow down; he had important things to discuss. He’d been hoping to speak with them since his birthday a few days ago, but there always seemed to be something else to do or someone else around, in the overly crowded Burrow.

Now, as the trio walked along the wide, cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, it was finally just the three of them. If you didn’t count their Auror escort, but at least the brawny man was keeping his distance, so they could talk in private as long as they kept their voices in a low whisper. Harry hadn’t really expected to have this opportunity, but since Mrs. Weasley had seemed so concerned about the sheer number of errands they needed to complete in one day, Harry had been quick to jump in and suggest they split up. Despite her obvious reluctance, it really was the only chance they had of getting through the entire supply list while still making it with time to see the Twins’ new shop before sunset. No one wanted to be out after dark these days, not now that everyone knew who might be lurking in the shadows.

Ron and Hermione slowed considerably to match Harry’s leisurely pace, as they strolled past the dim shops and boarded up buildings on their way to Madam Malkin’s Robe Shop. The entire feeling of Diagon Alley could not have been more different from his first visit. What had once been bright, cheerful, and full of hope, was now melancholy, grey, and fearful.

Hermione seemed prepared to let Harry speak when he was ready, but Ron wasn’t nearly as patient. He lowered his voice and leaned in, so they couldn’t be overheard. “What’s up mate? Did you want to talk to us?”

“I had another one of those dreams the other night. On my birthday. About him.”

Ron paled immediately, but Hermione rallied. “About You-Know-Who? Like the one you had last week?”

Harry nodded. “This is the third one I’ve had in as many weeks.”

***

_The most recent dream had been a little different from the first two. For one thing, it had taken place in a dining room, formal, yet not overly large. The first two had been inside a study. Voldemort had sat at the head of the long dining table, in a throne-like chair which looked exactly like the sort of thing the man would conjure for himself in real life._

_Harry hadn’t been sure where to go or what to do, so he had simply sat in the chair nearest to himself, at the opposite end of the table. The entire time, when Harry had walked in, looked around, and finally decided to sit, Voldemort had simply watched him, silently, with a neutral expression on his face. Yet, as soon as Harry had made himself comfortable, in the much less impressive seat, Voldemort seemed to decide that he wanted Harry’s undivided attention. “Back again, Harry?”_

_Harry hadn’t answered right away. He’d taken a moment to study Voldemort. The snake-faced wraith before him looked just like the man who had stepped out of the cauldron a little over a year ago, minus the murderous glint in his eye. “What is this? Are you real? Is this another dream or something else?”_

_Voldemort had narrowed his red eyes for a moment, but his face remained as impassive as always. “This is merely a dream, Harry. You are dreaming that you are speaking to me, obviously.” Then he had tilted his head to the side and sneered. “Why? Did you wish to have dinner with me?”_

_It was Harry’s turn to sneer. “What I wish is to never see your ugly face again.”_

***

Hermione looked thoughtful. “Are you sure these are really just dreams, Harry? Are you sure you’re not seeing the real You-Know-Who?”

Harry just kicked a pebble along the dark grey cobbles. The whole alley seemed like it had already accepted defeat, with so many closed up storefronts, and terrified shoppers scurrying to their next location.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t him. I was rather snarky. I’m pretty sure if it were the real Voldemort he would have lost it and just murdered me or tortured me or whatever. He’s usually about as patient and understanding as a hungry werewolf.”

Ron still looked pale. “Can we have this conversation without saying You-Know-Who’s name?”

Hermione, however, was not to be deterred. “What did he do if he wasn’t trying to kill you?”

Harry shrugged. “The same thing as the other two dreams. Just talk.”

Ron decided to get in on the questions. “What did he say this time?”

***

_“Tell me, Harry, I have heard a very interesting rumor and I wish to know if it is true.”_

_Voldemort’s impassive face had been the complete opposite of Harry’s murderous glare. “I’m not telling you anything.”_

_For only a second, Voldemort’s expressionless mask had seemed to crack. His eyes had given the faintest of twitches and his mouth grimaced. But only for the briefest moment, and then everything had fallen back into place, smooth and languid as if nothing had happened. “Is it true that you are a Parselmouth, Harry? Is it true that you speak the language of the serpents?”_

_Harry had been surprised by the question, and it had probably been that surprise which caused him to answer without a pause. “Did you not know that? I’m surprised the whole wizarding world doesn’t know about that by now, since half the school saw me speak Parseltongue in that Dueling Club. I guess maybe it sounds too unbelievable to be true.”_

***

Harry shrugged as they slowly shuffled down another lane, past an ancient witch trying to sell ‘protection charms’ from a hastily assembled cart. “He didn’t really say much, he mostly just asked me questions.”

Hermione seemed absolutely horrified by this revelation. “What!? I hope you didn’t reveal any information about the Order or anything like that.”

Ron also seemed worried about this possibility, now that Hermione had pointed out that it existed. “Yeah, mate, dream or otherwise, you shouldn’t be answering You-Know-Who’s questions.”

“I’m not an idiot.” Harry felt his indignance rise. Did they really feel they needed to lecture him about the dangers of Voldemort trying to trick him through their mental link? “He didn’t want to know anything about that anyway. He just wanted to talk about me being a Parselmouth.”

***

_Voldemort had stared at Harry for quite a while as they sat in silence, while Harry had tried his best not to squirm under such scrutiny. “It is an interesting gift, the ability to speak to snakes. Many do not appreciate it, but I have always found it quite useful. Do you speak to snakes often, Harry?”_

_“No.” Harry had felt no need to elaborate to Voldemort of all people._

_Again, the twitch. That crack of composure had come and gone in the blink of an eye. “Really? Afraid of your own powers? Worried that the caress of that hiss on your tongue will tempt you toward the Dark Arts?”_

_Harry hadn’t cared how much he irked dream-Voldemort. If the man could have killed him, surely he would have done so by now. So, he had folded his arms and rolled his eyes just like the annoyed teenager he was. “No, I just don’t hang around a lot of snakes.”_

_Voldemort did not take the bait. His composure remained. “Indeed? It is no matter; they very rarely make intriguing conversation.”_

***

Ron looked relieved that Voldemort hadn’t asked about the Order, but Hermione just seemed confused. “So, he just wanted to chat…about the fact that you are both Parselmouths?”

Hermione’s question seemed to spur Ron’s curiosity, as well. “What? Like: ‘hey, talk to any cool snakes lately?’”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry just shrugged. It wasn’t completely inaccurate. “Not exactly. But not too far off.”

This made Ron laugh…loudly. It caused a few nearby shoppers to jump as if someone might attack them. Their Auror escort, still several meters away, gave an annoyed look. “Sorry,” Ron announced to the street at large. Then he quieted his voice, yet again. His playful smile returning. “Harry’s right, Hermione. That’s definitely not You-Know-Who. It’s probably just some random weird dream. Nothing to worry about at all.”

***

_“Did you ever wonder, Harry, why you would be gifted with the language of the snakes? Such a unique ability, and typically an inherited one. I do not believe I have heard of any other Potters speaking Parseltongue. Strange that you would have the ability, when none of your forefathers did.”_

_Harry had unfolded his arms and leaned forward on the table, propped on his elbows. “I didn’t inherit it. I got it from you. Dumbledore already explained all of this to me.”_

_Throughout their conversation, Voldemort had kept his spine parallel to the wing-backed throne, and his hands rested on the corresponding armrests. He had not moved an inch when Harry had spoken this statement, but for the first time, the indifferent expression left his face for more than just an instant. It had turned to fascination, and this time the expression stayed. “What did Dumbledore explain to you?”_

_Harry had paused again at this. Dumbledore had told Harry that Voldemort didn’t realize he had given some of his powers to Harry. That it had been unintentional. Yet, Harry didn’t really see that it would make any difference whether Voldemort knew about it now or not. After all, he had told the Diary Tom all about it, and it hadn’t really changed his opinion of Harry at all._

_Besides, in that moment, Harry had really wanted to rub it in Voldemort’s face that Harry knew something that he didn’t. That Dumbledore had guessed at something that Voldemort hadn’t. “He told me that when you failed to kill me, you passed on some of your powers to me. That’s the reason I can talk to snakes. Because of the power I took from you.”_

_Harry had expected Voldemort to be outraged by this. After all, Harry had just admitted to essentially stealing something from Voldemort. Probably the one thing Voldemort cared about more than anything else: power. However, very much to Harry’s surprise, Voldemort’s expression had changed from beguiled to completely enraptured. He had seemed to almost stare through Harry as he said, “what else did you take from me, I wonder?”_

***

Ron seemed to believe the matter was settled, but Hermione wasn’t entirely convinced. “I don’t know Harry. Even if it was just a dream, perhaps you should still tell Professor Dumbledore.”

Harry definitely didn’t want to do that. The man seemed busy enough. What with the war, and the Order, and the school, and probably a thousand other things that Harry did even know about. Harry really didn’t want to approach the professor just to say, ‘sorry to bother you, sir, I know you’re leading a war and all, but I just wanted to tell you about this funny dream I had.’

Besides, Harry had already had that conversation, on the night Dumbledore had taken him to the Burrow. He was in no hurry for a repeat performance. “I already told Dumbledore about the first dream I had, Hermione. He didn’t care. I’m not going to owl him about each and every dream I have where Voldemort shows up.”

“Seriously, mate, you shouldn’t say…” But Hermione interrupted him.

“I still think he would want to know what was…” Only to be interrupted by Ron, in turn.

“Hermione, drop it. Harry’s just having weird dreams about You-Know-Who. He’s probably just eating too much sugar or something. If you want, mate, I can finish off your dessert for you tonight.”

Harry smiled, glad to have one of his friends on his side. “Just try to get near my pudding and see what happens to you.”

They could now see Madam Malkin’s shop up ahead. It was, thankfully, still in business, and the lights were on in the large window, displaying several different robe designs, and a Hogwarts uniform, which both Ron and Hermione needed in a larger size. Harry was just following along for the company.

Even with their destination in view, the trio still walked along at almost a snail’s crawl. They knew they wouldn’t be able to continue this conversation inside the shop, but they also knew that their escort would probably chastise them if they came to a standstill, while out in the middle of the street. The auror was already giving them a slightly dirty look for walking as slowly as they were. Hermione, in particular, did not seem ready to let their discussion come to an end. “Well, I suppose if you’re sure. But then, three dreams in just a few weeks seems like a lot.”

Harry shrugged. “Not really, it’s probably just stress. What with the war and all, it’s surprising I’m not having more weird dreams. I really just wanted to tell you guys about it, because I think it’s a warning or something. As if my subconscious is trying to tell me something. I don’t know what, though.”

Ron grinned. “If only one of us had signed up for NEWT level Divinations, we could interpret what they mean.” He raised his hands and wiggled his fingers, mysteriously.

Hermione scoffed. “Dream interpretation is hardly something to take seriously, Ronald. You shouldn’t even joke about that. With so many people gullible enough to buy these ridiculous ‘warding bracelets’ and ‘good luck amulets,’ you really ought to be setting a better example.” As if on cue, they passed a particularly eerie-looking warlock selling what appeared to be pickled eyes in jars, with a sign that read ‘Lucky Dragon Eyes.’ Harry had looked a dragon in the eye once, and he knew from experience that their eyes were much larger. Hermione wrinkled her nose at the putrid smell leaking through the jar; she waited till they passed before she continued. “It’s not as though Divination is anything to be taken seriously.”

Leave it to Hermione to go on an adventure trying to steal a prophecy, only to then scoff at the very notion that prophecies might be true, or that Divination could be taken at face value. Divination: the very same subject taught by the woman who had delivered that prophecy.

Hermione went on undeterred, however. “Harry, please just promise me you’ll take this seriously. Whether it’s a subconscious warning, or a vision, or just a regular old dream. Please promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

Harry offered her a warm smile, as they made their way to the front door of the shop. “Careful? Look who you’re talking to, Hermione, caution is practically my middle name. My number one priority is avoiding danger at any cost.”

Ron chuckled and joined in, as he opened the door to let the other two enter. “Yeah, Hermione, he’s basically a turtle hiding in his shell.”

Harry turned back to Ron as he made his way inside. “Exactly, I can’t imagine where anyone would get the idea that I’m not careful. I avoid danger like –” Suddenly, Harry jolted as he walked right into someone. He immediately swung around to apologize, only to come face to face with Draco Malfoy.

Harry couldn’t imagine anyone he wanted to see less than the young man before him, and based on the blonde’s expression, Malfoy certainly shared that sentiment. However, contrary to how Malfoy usually looked when facing Harry, this time Malfoy didn’t look hateful or contemptuous. He didn’t even have his usual sneer. Malfoy looked completely and utterly shocked; possibly even scared. It was as if the Slytherin were staring at a ghost, instead of the young man he had spent five years tormenting.

“Draco, darling, I just need to…” Narcissa Malfoy and Madam Malkin walked around the counter, only to both halt at the sight of the three Gryffindors who had just walked in.

Madam Malkin stuttered something that sounded like “Harry Potter.”

Yet, it was Mrs. Malfoy who seemed to collect herself while everyone else was still reeling. “As I was saying, Draco, I just need to pay for these things, and then we can move on.”

Ron tugged on Harry’s sleeve, as he walked into the main floor of the shop, sidling up next to his best friend. “Come on, Harry. We should just go somewhere else. We don’t want to shop where Death Eaters buy their clothes.”

Madam Malkin immediately paled, sure that a fight was about to break out. Hermione raised a hand to her mouth, probably nervous of the same thing. However, Malfoy said nothing. He continued to stare at Harry with his face as pale as a sheet. He looked about as anxious as the time Filch had announced that detention would be held in the Forbidden Forest. He was biting his lip as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Still he said nothing.

Harry didn’t like it. “What’s your problem, Malfoy?”

The pale grey eyes met Harry’s, and they suddenly seemed set with determination. “Potter, I need to speak with you.”

Harry was not impressed. He really didn’t want to hear anything that Draco Malfoy had to say. Yet, there was something about the nervous and shocked demeanor that stopped Harry from dismissing him completely out of hand. “Fine. Go ahead and speak. No one’s stopping you.”

Malfoy turned to his mother, who was watching him from the counter, where she was now standing with the incredibly fidgety Madam Malkin. He gave her an almost desperate, questioning look. Harry watched as she responded with a slight nod. Malfoy immediately turned back and said “I need to talk to you…in private.”

“No bloody way.” Harry was not falling for whatever this was.

Ron wasn’t having it either. “Yeah, sod off, Malfoy. He’s not going anywhere with you.”

Malfoy offered Ron a brief glare, before turning back to Harry. “We don’t have to go anywhere. We could just talk…right there.” Malfoy pointed to the large display window that took up the entire front of the shop. “We could just step right outside. Your friends will still be able to see you fine. There are plenty of people in the street. I just don’t want to be overheard.”

“You don’t want to be overheard…so no one can hear you threaten me?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, he seemed a little back to normal now that he was arguing with Harry like usual. “If I wanted to threaten you, Potter, I could just as easily do it with your little friends around.”

Harry frowned. Malfoy had a point. The boy had once threatened all the muggleborns in school, right after Filch’s cat was petrified, in full view of half the teaching staff. Malfoy had never really worried about being overheard when it came to delivering threatening messages. So, what was Malfoy up to? “Why is it so important that we talk in private?”

Malfoy gave Harry a unimpressed look, but instead of the snappy retort Harry would have expected, the boy simply sighed. “Please,” he said, and it made Harry’s jaw drop. “It’s important. I need to talk to you. The sooner the better.”

Harry couldn’t remember ever hearing Malfoy say that word to anyone. He turned to Ron and Hermione, who looked equally shocked and confused. No help there. “How do I know you won’t hex me as soon as I step outside the door?”

“Besides the fact that there’s an auror standing, oh so conspicuously, across the street, who would haul me to Azkaban before I lowered my wand?” Harry said nothing, and Malfoy simply sighed again. He pulled out his wand, and suddenly three wands were drawn and aimed right at his pointy face. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all held their wands at the ready, not about to let Malfoy get the drop on them. However, Malfoy simply rolled his eyes at them. “Really?” He turned and walked over the counter, toward his mother, with his back to them. “Such dramatics,” he called over his shoulder. And then he handed his wand over to his mother. She took it and slipped in into her pocket, where it was quite clearly out of his reach. What sort of trick was this?

Malfoy then strolled to the front of the shop and opened the entrance door, holding it open, clearly expecting Harry to walk through. “Are you coming or not?”

Harry still couldn’t see the trick here, and it bothered him. What was Malfoy going to do to him? What was Malfoy planning? Harry stepped forward, his wand still pointed toward Malfoy’s face. “How do you know I won’t hex you?”

Malfoy’s haughty smirk returned with a vengeance. “Oh please, Potter, you’re not going to attack someone who’s unarmed. You’re too noble for that.” The words ought to have been a compliment, but Malfoy spat them out like an insult. As though being noble and not attacking unarmed teenagers was something that one should be ashamed of.

Harry narrowed his eyes, but he strode through the door regardless. Whatever it was that Malfoy was planning, Harry would rather know what it was, and face it head on. Harry was not about to cower before Draco Malfoy, especially an unarmed and strangely anxious Draco Malfoy.

As soon as Harry was out on the street, in front of the shop window, he immediately turned to face the Slytherin, not about to let the boy out of his sight for a moment. He also checked out of his peripheral vision to make sure Ron and Hermione were still in sight, through the large glass pane that he stood in front of. Harry could see them watching him from the other side of a few dressed up mannequins. Looks of nervous anticipation showing strong through the clear glass.

Malfoy simply strode forward with his hands clasped behind his back and his expression cool and detached. A little color had returned to his pale cheeks, and he looked his usual pompous and arrogant self once again.

As much as Harry hated the sight of that pretentious face, it was an improvement to the shock and anxiety from before. “All right, Malfoy, I’m here. Let’s get this over with. What did you want to say?”

Malfoy quirked a brow in annoyance, but managed to avoid rolling his eyes. Instead he offered his old rival what Harry could only assume was meant to be an unassuming smile, but looked almost like a pained grimace. “I want to offer you a truce.”

Harry froze, refusing to believe what he was hearing, yet Malfoy continued. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore. This…I don’t know…rivalry thing. Whatever this is. I’m done. In fact, the whole thing, all of it, I’m done.”

***  
Chapter 1: Body, Mind, and Soul  
***

One Month Earlier…

Severus Snape was having one of the worst summers of his life. He considered himself a patient man, an unselfish man, a long-suffering man. However, there was only so much he could take.

The situation with Dumbledore’s cursed hand had been a serious blow. Dumbledore was going to die. There was nothing Severus could do but try to slow the inevitable. How had the headmaster been so careless? The man was usually at least three steps ahead of everyone else; overprepared for any eventuality, and yet he had not been able to foresee his own undoing.

Severus did not particularly like Dumbledore; he considered him more of an ally than a friend. Despite their many differences, Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore wanted the same thing: to stop the Dark Lord. Their reasons may be different, but their goals could not have been more aligned. The Dark Lord must be destroyed. Lily’s death must be avenged.

So, losing Dumbledore had been a terrible shock. Certainly, the man was still holding on for now, but it was just a matter of time. Another few months, perhaps a year at most, and Severus would lose his strongest ally in the fight against the Dark Lord. Perhaps the only man alive with the power to defeat such an unstoppable foe.

Of course, that had only been the beginning; his summer had simply gotten worse since then. There was also the incident with Draco Malfoy. The foolish boy had been more than eager to accept the Dark Mark and whatever assignment the Dark Lord decided to ‘honor’ him with. Dumbledore now wanted Severus to carry out young Draco’s assignment. Apparently, Severus’s soul was blackened enough already that it no longer mattered what other atrocities he committed to taint it further.

Not to mention the oath he’d been forced to take with Narcissa. For a man who had never had children, he seemed to be swearing his life to protect a growing number of them. First Potter and now young Draco. But then, that wasn’t right, was it? He was no longer meant to save Potter, to keep him alive for Lily. That had been the most recent revelation in a summer full of shocking truths.

Potter was going to die. Had to die. Was always meant to die. Severus had always known Dumbledore was a sly manipulator, but this? This was more than Severus had thought the headmaster capable of; to train and prepare a boy from the time he was in diapers, so that he could sacrifice himself when the moment was right.

Severus had been appalled by Dumbledore’s blasé attitude on the subject, but then, Dumbledore had actually had time to come to terms with this. As much as Severus hated the boy, and he truly despised the little Potter spawn, he had always been sure that they were working to keep him safe and alive, as Lily would have wanted. But it wasn’t meant to be. Potter had to die, so that the Dark Lord could die. It seemed there was no other way around it. It was a sobering truth, but Severus had certainly accepted harder truths in his life.

“Severus?” The potion’s master immediately turned at the voice. He had been lost in thought, simply sitting by the fireplace, musing over the cruel joke that his life had become. He looked over at the entryway of his sitting room, to see a very unwelcome sight. It was another reason why this summer had been one of the worst he could remember, because he had to spend it with the very same rodent of a man who had betrayed Lily to her death.

Severus narrowed his eyes in distaste, but allowed no other show of emotion to cross his face. “Wormtail?”

The little rat scurried in and stood before Severus’s seat, near the other grey armchair by the fire. It was the only other seat in the sparsely furnished room, mostly filled with bookshelves, dust, and the overwhelming smell of must. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“Yes.” Severus spoke without a second’s hesitation. “However, you obviously have something on your mind, so we may as well get this over with.”

Wormtail ignored the obvious distaste in Severus’s voice, and simply settled himself into the armchair across from him. Severus noticed that Pettigrew seemed to have a mug of tea in his hand, obviously enjoying his morning cup. When Severus had first returned from Hogwarts for the summer, Wormtail would always wait until Severus made tea, and ask if he could also have some. Now, apparently, the man felt at home enough to make a pot on his own, without even alerting Severus to the activity. As much as Severus hated the idea of this pest bothering him for each and every little necessity, Severus also didn’t like the idea of rodents raiding his pantry.

Wormtail didn’t seem to notice the hateful look that Severus shot toward the chipped mug in his hand. “I only wanted to make a bit of conversation.” Wormtail wiggled his overly large behind, trying to make himself comfortable in Severus’s stiff armchair. “I was starting to go stir crazy, here all alone, with you off on missions for so long.” The little man offered Severus a filthy, toothy grin. “This place is a lot more bearable with a bit of company.”

“Funny,” Severus replied, his voice anything but humorous. “I was just thinking the exact opposite.”

Wormtail only shrugged at the insult, obviously accustomed to being disparaged and abused. “I don’t know how you can stand it. All this silence and murky darkness. Don’t you get bored all alone here? What do you do all day?”

Severus grimaced in horror as Wormtail took a noisy slurp of tea. The sound made his growing headache throb. How could any human being be this pathetic? This repugnant? Severus took a breath to steady his ire before he answered. “I spend much of my time thinking. I understand why such an activity would not appeal to you. I can’t imagine that your thoughts would be able to hold anyone’s interest for long.”

Wormtail, again, tried to inhale his drink, loudly sucking the liquid into his mouth, and then wiping a small amount of dribble with the sleeve of his stained robes. “You always treat me like I’m dirt beneath your feet,” he commented. Severus did not object. It was an accurate statement. “But we’re not so different, you and I.”

Before Wormtail could take another disgusting swivel of oversweet tea, Severus whipped his wand from his side and vanished the mug before it could reach the man’s eager lips. Severus’s magic whirled with righteous fury, but his voice came out slow and deadly calm. “You are nothing like me.”

Wormtail paled, his face contorting in fear. However, he foolishly continued, perhaps trying to escape punishment by justifying his words. “We may be different in many ways, but we are, of course, on the same side. You and I; we serve the same master. Our loyalty is to the same Lord.”

Severus continued to glare, with his wand pointed at Wormtail’s rat-like face. He did not, could not, correct the man. It was necessary that Wormtail believe that they served the same master, that he could corroborate that Severus’s loyalty was to the Dark Lord. Pettigrew’s assumption that Severus was on the same side, was not what gave Severus pause, however. Severus was suddenly overcome with a question that he hadn’t thought to answer before: who was he loyal to?

“Get out,” Severus whispered, his voice barely carrying over the crackle of the fire. Pettigrew was quick to comply, practically tripping over himself in his hurry to escape Severus’s obvious acrimony. Severus hardly noticed. He was barely paying attention to the world outside his own personal thoughts by this time.

Where did his loyalty lie? Certainly, he had promised the headmaster his loyalty, and the Order of the Phoenix. But then, he had also sworn undying loyalty to the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, so his word was hardly anything to go by. He had promised to help, to protect, to look after so many people in his life: his mother, Lucius and Narcissa, their son, the Potter boy, and several members of the Order.  
However, only one had ever seemed to really matter. Only one could be said to still hold his undying loyalty, and she had died almost fifteen years ago.

She was the reason for everything that he did, or at least everything good. Any decency, any kindness or mercy within him, was the part of him that was touched by Lily Evans. All the rest was merely his own cold and vindictive nature, his own ruthless cunning and unforgiving malignity. He had no misconceptions about being a good person. He knew he was not. Lily Evans was his goodness. Lily Evans was the reason he would give every ounce of himself to stop the Dark Lord, and probably die in the process. It’s what she would have wanted.

Or was it? What would Lily Evans want? She had wanted the Dark Lord stopped, obviously, but would she want her only son to be sacrificed, in order to accomplish that goal? To bring an end to the war? To avenge her death? Severus couldn’t imagine that she would ever want such an early and cruel end for her son. She hadn’t died to bring an end to the Dark Lord, she had died to protect that boy, because she had loved him more than she had ever loved anyone or anything else.

What did it matter, though? It wasn’t up to Lily whether the boy lived or died, and it wasn’t even up to Severus. As soon as the boy realized what he was, what he carried, Dumbledore was right. Potter would sacrifice himself in an instant to save everyone else. Shouldn’t the decision be up to the boy? Shouldn’t he be allowed to decide if he lived or died? But then, was the boy really being given a fair choice? The headmaster had practically been grooming the boy to make a noble sacrifice for years now. Potter would do anything the old man ordered without hesitation; even die.

So, that was it, wasn’t it? Potter would eventually find out that he carried the Dark Lord’s soul. Even if Severus never told him, the boy would likely come to the realization through other means. He would face his foe, and the Dark Lord would most assuredly kill him, sealing both their fates. Dumbledore hadn’t left much room for error. Severus couldn’t really see any way around the obvious conclusion: Harry Potter was going to die. The Dark Lord would bring about his own destruction.

Severus watched as the logs slowly gave way with small pops, shooting tiny embers into the blaze. He leaned back into the unyielding firmness of the dusty antique, and he thought. What could be done? Potter clearly could not be swayed from marching naïvely to his own doom, but the boy was not the one who would be firing the spell. Could the Dark Lord be convinced not to kill the boy? Was such a thing even possible? If the Dark Lord came to understand that his very life was dependent on the boy, would that be enough to sway him against enacting his retribution on the nuisance that had thwarted him so many times before?

As it stood, the Dark Lord was almost obsessed with the thought of killing Potter. There was an almost manic craving to snuff out the life of his most obstinate challenger. Would the realization that the child actually held a piece of himself be enough to overcome that drive? There was only one way to find out.

***

Lord Voldemort tore through the door with a blast and made his way across the study in four quick strides. His magic was lashing violently, but it would not be pacified any time soon, not when his very existence was at stake. He began tearing books from the shelves, forcefully tugging them from their slots. His magic rippled around him, making the very shelves quake with his desperation and his fury, but he could do nothing to control it in this frenzy.

Severus had been right. Right about the ring, at least, which meant that his servant was probably also correct that Dumbledore’s days were numbered. Lord Voldemort had been reluctant to believe it, at first; it sounded too good to be believed. Severus had told him that the headmaster had been cursed, the old man had barely clung to life with a healing potion, but he would be dead before the year was up. Surely, the most likely explanation was that Dumbledore had discovered the truth about Severus’s true allegiance and had tried to trick Lord Voldemort’s loyal servant into passing on a falsehood about the old man’s health. But then, Severus had described the cursed object, a gold ring with the large black stone: the Gaunt family ring.

Lord Voldemort finally tore each and every book on horcruxes from the shelf and waved his wand to send them to his large, dark oak desk. The texts flew savagely across the room, some landing on the desk, but others slamming harshly into the wall beyond. The Dark Lord’s face twisted in displeasure. His powerful magic had not been nearly as precise since his resurrection, and lately it had been flaring even more riotously, especially when his temper erupted, which was happening more and more often.

He stormed across the room and snatched up the first book he saw, Soul Magic: The Darkest of the Ancient Magics. Lord Voldemort needed answers. As soon as he had realized what had happened to his precious ring, he knew he needed to understand more.

He had been ready to tear that old hut apart in his need to discover the truth, but it wasn’t necessary. The box which had held the ring had been left open on the floor. The entire shack reeked with the stench of Dumbledore’s warm, glowing magic. There was no doubt about it. Dumbledore had been there. Dumbledore had taken the ring, and almost certainly been cursed by it. Dumbledore was dying. However, the old man also knew about the horcruxes. The good news hardly cancelled out the bad.

There were several questions that needed answering.

First: Severus had told his lord that the cursed ring had been destroyed with the Sword of Gryffindor; how was such a thing even possible? There were very few things that could destroy a horcrux, and surely a sword wasn’t one of them. What magic was imbued within that sword to make it possible that it could destroy a horcrux?

Second: how was it possible that he had not noticed the destruction of his own soul? All the books had said that if a horcrux was destroyed, one would feel the damage occur. Of course, none of the books had accounted for a person making quite so many horcruxes. Did the feeling diminish with the number of horcruxes one created? Had he created so many, that what little soul was left inside of him could no longer tell if its brothers were gone?

Third: what was happening with his magic? Why was it pulsing and flaring against his control, and did that have anything to do with his unstable soul? He knew that as he made more and more horcruxes, his body had slowly changed, had become less human. His mind, as well, had become less focused and calm, and more easily angered, his thoughts sometimes running wild. Had his magic also been affected by this change?

Lately, all these symptoms seemed to only increase. He could barely control his temper on an average day; it was only because Severus had the foresight to apparate away that the Dark Lord had not murdered one of his most valued servants for delivering such unwelcome news. Lord Voldemort already slept and ate less than the average person, but in the last week, he had barely eaten a few light meals. Not to mention how violently erratic his magic could become when his mind was lost to fury. Was all of this increased volatility the result of the ring’s destruction? Did his mind and body became less stable as his soul was destroyed piece by piece?

Fourth: what could possibly be done to prevent this damage to the rest of his self? He understood that the mind, body, soul, and magic of a wizard were all connected, so it made some sense that the destruction of one would affect the others. However, what could be done to prevent this? And could he reverse some of the damage that had already occurred? His mind and his magic were his greatest weapons, he needed them to be in peak condition. He could not have any part of himself outside of his control; he simply could not allow such a thing.

Of course, if Severus was to be believed, then a piece of himself was already outside of his control. A piece of his soul was very much outside of his control. However, he wouldn’t think about that right now. The very idea of it was too revolting to even consider. No, he needed to focus on the ring; on the horcruxes he knew about for sure. Not the possible seventh one that Dumbledore had alluded to.

None of the books had any useful information. Was he really the only one who had dared stretch this power to its logical conclusion? The only wizard with enough nerve to see how far a soul could be stretched?

A couple of the books mentioned how the soul fragments could be returned to the host. A wizard had to feel remorse and repentance over the action that had caused the horcrux to form in the first place. That was completely useless. He didn’t want to reabsorb his soul fragments, he still needed them separate from himself to ensure his immortality. Even if he did, he was sure there was no possible way he could bring himself to feel guilty over the loss of those pathetic lives. If anything, they should feel honored to have served such a grand purpose. Their otherwise meaningless lives were elevated by becoming sacrifices toward such a noble goal.

Clearly, he, Lord Voldemort, was the only person to ever test the bounds of soul magic quite so far, and therefore he was the only one who would be able to determine the solution to this problem. The books would be of no use. Now he simply needed to think.

Lord Voldemort called his dear snake to him. He was always able to think more clearly when she was near. Nagini seemed to help settle his mind and calm his volatile thoughts. Once she was rested on his shoulders, it all seemed to click into place. Yes, of course. He mood, his thoughts, his magic, all seemed more stable when she was in his presence. It was easier to eat and sleep when she was in his company. It couldn’t be a coincidence, surely it wasn’t just her soothing presence, but the vicinity of another piece of his soul.

If he could gather up the other pieces, the ones that hadn’t been destroyed, he could keep them close to him. They could help stabilize his mind and his magic. He couldn’t let any more pieces of himself get destroyed, he had already lost so much of himself. However, this left a large problem; the one thing he had tried to keep himself from dwelling on. According to Severus, or at least, according to Albus Dumbledore, Lord Voldemort had created one more horcrux. A piece of his soul existed within his own prophesized enemy, Harry Potter.

Severus hadn’t understood that the boy was a horcrux, specifically, or that Lord Voldemort had created others. He only understood what the old man had told him; that the boy contained a piece of Lord Voldemort’s precious soul, and therefore, the headmaster planned to sacrifice the boy. It was a plan worthy of the Dark Lord himself; trick your enemy into believing they are destroying their own bringer of death, when they are really destroying a piece of themselves. Lord Voldemort didn’t doubt for a moment that Dumbledore was capable of such a cruelly practical plan. The Dark Lord had always seen the old fool for what he really was; a manipulator, a puppet master, a spider, scurrying around pulling strings and catching unsuspecting flies in his web of lies and half-truths.

That wasn’t the part that he found hard to believe. What Lord Voldemort couldn’t fathom, was how could the boy really contain a piece of his soul? Wouldn’t the Dark Lord have recognized a piece of himself? Wouldn’t the boy realize that he, himself, was a part of Lord Voldemort? It didn’t matter either way. The boy still needed to be dealt with. Lord Voldemort could not allow any possible threat to continue. However, if the boy really did hold a piece of his soul, he knew he wouldn’t be able to kill the boy outright, not without removing the soul fragment first. Or perhaps, he could find some way to destroy the boy without destroying the soul fragment. He would need to do more research, find a solution to this problem.

Lord Voldemort stroked Nagini and closed his eyes. He needed to stay calm and find a solution. He pulled another book closer to him. It was going to be a long night.

***

Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks made their way down the quiet street of Privet Drive as inconspicuously as possible, trying their best to look like muggles out for an evening stroll. The air was still quite warm, even as the sun was setting. To any outsider, they probably would just look as though they were enjoying the light summer breeze in this peaceful neighborhood. Unless, of course, one was to listen to their conversation.

“I mean, Arthur makes a few good points.” Tonks was flipping through a small notebook that had been passed off to her from the last guards who were on duty.

“No,” Remus corrected, “Arthur was wasting paper by making notes about muggles, when he should have been writing down any relevant details or strange occurrences he noticed.”

Tonks chuckled. “I’m sure to a couple of purebloods, a man walking around in a strange hat and putting letters into small boxes probably seemed like a strange occurrence.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Arthur knew perfectly well that that man was just delivering the mail. Alastor probably threw a fit when Arthur started questioning that poor mailman. I mean, the whole point is that we all keep a low profile.”

Tonks was still reading through Arthur Weasley’s notes on the muggle letter delivery system. “Moody definitely didn’t seem particularly happy when we came to relieve them.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Alastor in a mood that I would describe as ‘happy.’”

Tonks turned to show Remus a passage in the notebook. “Listen to this: ‘Muggle Mail Deliverer picks up letters from each letter box. Places letters in bag. Where does he take those letters? I asked him where he delivers letters to and he confirmed that he only delivers letters to the Little Whinging area. What happens if a letter needs to be sent outside Little Whinging? Does the Mail Deliverer know all the other Mail Deliverers? Does he know who to hand the letters over to?’ You know I never really thought about that.”

Remus shrugged. “They have centers, I believe. All the mail carriers bring their mail to a central location, and they have people who sort them and decide which mail carriers get which letters to deliver. They have a whole system, I believe.”

Tonks turned the page of her notebook, just as they turned the corner and started heading down a side street. Not that it made much difference to their view. Each street looked almost identical. “Huh, that seems so complicated. Just giving your letter to an owl is a lot simpler.”

Remus watched as a teenaged muggle came out of one of the nearly-identical houses and dropped a bag of trash into a large bin. He wondered if Arthur would start questioning the trash collection system next. “From what I understand, owls aren’t very good at delivering letters unless they’ve been magically bred and trained for the purpose. Besides, there are a lot more muggles, and they send a lot more letters, so it would get a bit messy if they started sending owls back and forth all day.”

Tonks glanced over at her partner on guard duty. “You seem to know a lot about it. Your mother was a muggle, right? Did you grow up around muggles?”

Remus strolled along with his hands in his pockets, pondering the question. “Not so much. I was a wizard, after all, so I was closer with my father’s family. Then, after I got bitten, I don’t know. I just didn’t really have anything in common with muggles.” Tonks nodded. Remus knew that her father was muggleborn, but she grew up almost entirely in the wizarding world, much like him. “It wasn’t until after the first war that I started living amongst muggles. After Lily and James died, and Sirius was in Azkaban, I didn’t have a whole lot keeping me tied to that world, you know? Plus, wizard employers get really suspicious if you call in sick every month during the full moon. Muggles never really notice that sort of thing.”

Tonks looked shocked. “You were living amongst muggles? But you’re one of the most skilled duelists I’ve met. You’re phenomenal at defense and transfiguration. You could probably be an Auror if you really wanted. I bet you rocked your NEWTs.”

Remus blushed at the praise, but he had a sad sort of smile on his face. “I did very well in all my NEWTs, but I always knew that I was never going to be an Auror. They don’t exactly accept dark creatures on the force.”

Tonks shoved him lightly with her shoulder. “You’re not a dark creature, and you know it.”

“Not according to the ministry. You heard about that bill, right? It’s still in committee right now, but Albus will make sure it goes before the entire Wizengamot, so he can try and stop it. They’re trying to relabel werewolves from ‘half-breeds’ to full on ‘dark creatures.’ I’m sure it’s a response to the attacks by Greyback and his lot. But if this thing passes, the Ministry can expect a full on werewolf riot. Any wolves still on the fence are almost certainly going to side with You-Know-Who, if only to try and regain their rights as citizens.”

They turned another corner, and Tonks made note of a stray cat wondering through a nearby yard. You never knew who might be an unregistered animagus. Tonks always wrote down any living creatures she saw, and yet her notes still weren’t a quarter as long as Arthur Weasley, who seemed to be able to write about each and every nuance of muggle life with absolute rapture.

“I had heard about that bill, but you don’t need to worry about it. Moody says they don’t have a leg to stand on. They won’t get enough support. Now that Dumbledore’s heading up the Wizengamot again, and he has full public support, he’ll convince them what a bad idea this is.”

“I hope you’re right. Once Albus comes to pick up Harry, and we’re not needed for guard duty, I need to start meeting with other werewolves right away. Convince them who’s really got their best interests at heart. This bill certainly isn’t making my job any easier.”

Tonks gave Remus a sly smile. “I’ll sort of miss these late night stakeout sessions. They’re certainly a lot more enjoyable this year, now that we’re partnering up.”

Remus couldn’t agree more. “Well, Albus certainly wasn’t going to send us by ourselves to watch the neighborhood after what happened with Mundungus. One person could simply take off or get taken out, and no one would know. If you have two, then there’s at least some back up.”

Tonks fell into step just a little closer. “It certainly makes the job a lot more entertaining. This street is so bloody boring. Nothing interesting ever happens.”

“I think there are a couple of dementors who visited last summer who might disagree with you.”

“Fair point.”

Remus looked up as they passed by Number Four. The house looked so ordered and normal and safe. It looked like the last place in the world anything interesting or dangerous or out-of-the-ordinary would happen. “Well, at least we know Harry’s safe for now.”

***

Harry Potter paced his room eagerly, unsure how he could possibly fall asleep with so much excitement. Professor Dumbledore had written to him, after barely any time spent with the Dursleys. Dumbledore was coming. He was coming to Privet Drive at the end of the week to pick up Harry and take him to the Burrow, where Harry would stay with the Weasley’s for the rest of the summer. This was going to be the greatest summer of his life!

Dumbledore had even mentioned that he wanted Harry to accompany him on an errand. What could that possibly be? Something amazing, certainly, if the headmaster was involved.

It took hours for Harry’s thoughts to settle enough for him to finally drift off to sleep. By the time exhaustion overtook him, he lay diagonally across his sheets, with one leg dangling over the side of his bed, and his day clothes and trainers still on. However, it didn’t matter, he was too far gone to fight off sleep any longer, and he finally succumbed to the world of dreams.

***

_Lord Voldemort stared at the boy across from him; the boy who was his prophesized enemy; the boy who could very well carry a piece of his own soul. “Harry Potter…” He savored the words on his tongue as he let them hiss from his mouth. He usually hated to say the name, calling him ‘the boy’ among his followers. Yet, he had always enjoyed watching the fear in the boy’s eyes when the child heard his own name whispered from that serpentine face. Surely it was the face of his nightmares._

_Lord Voldemort was not disappointed. No sooner had he called the boy by name, than that innocent face changed from curiosity to confusion to fear. “Y-you can see me?” The boy tripped over his words, clearly startled by this revelation. Although, Lord Voldemort couldn’t understand why. Surely the boy was old enough to have learned the cardinal rule: if you can see them, then they can see you._

_“Of course I can see you. What other outcome did you expect when you looked into my eyes?”_

_The boy took a step back. “Usually in these dreams I can see you, but…” Suddenly the boy cut himself off, blushing. He realized too late that he had said too much._

_Lord Voldemort smiled like a shark. He leaned forward into his desk, eyeing his prey. “Do you dream of me often, Harry Potter? Do you watch me while you sleep? Do I haunt your nightmares? What do you see, I wonder?”_

_The boy simply scowled. “I see what a monster you are.”_

_The reptilian nostrils flared. How dare the boy so cavalierly insult him? It was irksome enough to be mocked by an obstinate teenager. It was another thing entirely when the little rebel was a piece of his own soul; something that should belong to you entirely, loyal and devoted to its core. If the boy was his horcrux, he clearly didn’t know it. Of course, Dumbledore wouldn’t have been particularly forthcoming with that information, would he?_

_Strangely enough, Lord Voldemort felt himself becoming agitated by the young man’s defiance, but the usual rage and violent hatred that seemed almost second nature to him, didn’t come. Instead of spitting out curses and vitriol, he merely swept up from his seat, and began to glide from behind his desk, in a wide circle around young Harry, who stood his ground in the center of the room._

_As the boy watched the Dark Lord circle him like a predator, he began to take in the details of the room they found themselves in. “Where are we, anyway?”_

_This caused Lord Voldemort to look around, as well. They were in his private study. A dark, wood-paneled room, lined with bookshelves and lit by a dreamy, glowing fire that gave off no heat in this incorporeal plane. Interesting. He must have fallen asleep at his desk while trying to find an answer to the problem of Harry Potter, and now he was dreaming about the very same boy, in the very same location where he had nodded off. Of course, he certainly wasn’t going to give the boy any further information about their whereabouts. “We are dreaming, of course. We are in the Land of Morpheus.”_

_The boy gave him a look. “Obviously we’re dreaming,” he spat at the man who continued to prowl the edges of the room, never taking his eyes off the boy. “If we were awake, you would have tried to kill me the second you saw me.”_

_“Perhaps,” was Lord Voldemort’s only reply. He was annoyed at the boy’s choice of words. Tried to kill him? As if to say the Dark Lord might not be capable of such a task. Although, it was difficult to deny, Harry Potter’s words weren’t entirely without backing. Lord Voldemort had tried, and failed, to kill the boy on more than a few occasions. But that was not any fault of his own, any error on his own part, the boy was not more powerful or cunning. He was simply unreasonably lucky, and so carefully protected by Dumbledore and his followers. That was all. Lord Voldemort paused. Or was it?_

_Lord Voldemort had walked a full circle around the Potter boy before he came to a stop, several feet before him, face to face. The Dark Lord looked down at the young man who had escaped death on so many occasions, who seemed to possess some sort of unnatural ability to cling to life. Harry Potter gave a challenging glare, but Lord Voldemort smiled venomously, hungrily. It all became so clear. The boy was not lucky; no one was that lucky. The boy was a vessel for his soul, his precious soul, and no piece of Lord Voldemort’s soul would ever give into death so easily._

_Young Harry hadn’t avoided death due to any special magic of his own, it was the soul fragment inside of him, urging him to fight tooth and nail to stay alive, keep itself safe. Perhaps that also explained the boy’s obstinate nature, his lack of fear. Some of the most powerful wizards and witches of the age would stutter and cower in the presence of the Dark Lord, but Harry Potter only looked on with either stubbornness or apprehension. Did the soul inside of him recognize its master? Did it see him as safety, as something that didn’t need to be feared?_

_After his critical examination, Lord Voldemort took a step directly toward the boy. Slowly, cautiously, as if trying not to startle his prey. Harry Potter took a half step back but didn’t run. There was nowhere to run to, anyway. Besides, this was a dream, the boy knew he could not be hurt here, or at least, he should sincerely hope so._

_The boy narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean ‘perhaps?’ Are you trying to imply you wouldn’t kill me in a second? Oh, but wait, I forgot. You like to play with your food before you eat it, don’t you?” Harry Potter continued to shuffle slowly backward, as Lord Voldemort strode slowly, but purposefully, forward. The gap was narrowing bit by bit._

_“Perhaps you don’t need to die, Harry Potter. Perhaps you were made to serve a different purpose.” Lord Voldemort stood directly before the boy, now._

_Young Harry stammered to a halt at those words. His brows furrowed in obvious confusion. “You are such a liar,” he declared, but then he paused, unsure. “What are you talking about, anyway?”_

_Lord Voldemort grabbed the boy’s jaw in a motion so quick it was inhuman. Harry Potter tried to jerk backward, but it was too late, his face was already trapped firmly in the bruising grip of the Dark Lord. His eyes were wide with shock, probably both because his enemy had taken hold of him so easily, and also because there was no pain in his scar. Lord Voldemort knew the effect his touch had on the boy, how in made him scream in agony. Not here, though. Not in the dream._

_Lord Voldemort leaned in, as if to share a secret. He stared into those bright green eyes, wide with concern and disorientation. This boy had fought him time and time again, but the boy was only fighting to live, was he not? Unknowingly keeping Lord Voldemort’s precious soul safe from harm. Could this boy be useful? Could his determination and tenacity be put to use? Lord Voldemort tilting his head in fascination. “Perhaps you are worthy of Lord Voldemort after all, Harry Potter.”_

***

Harry shot up in his bed, gasping for breath. He was sweating and shivering at the same time, both too hot and too cold. Uncomfortable in every conceivable way. His mind was frantic. Had that been a nightmare, a vision of the future, or had he actually been speaking to Voldemort himself?

At the mere thought of the man, he unconsciously raised his hand to the lightning scar on his forehead. It wasn’t hurting. There was the tiniest prickling sensation, but that happened often enough. Typically, when he saw Voldemort in his dreams, his scar was split open in agony. What did it mean that his scar didn’t hurt? Was it just a regular nightmare then? One that just so happened to feature his greatest enemy, since he had seen the man only a few weeks ago at the Ministry?

Lately, most of Harry’s nightmares featured Bellatrix Lestrange laughing and mocking him for Sirius’s death. That, or a haunting veil that seemed to call him with whispering voices, luring him to a place beyond. Despite being caught in the middle of the duel between Voldemort and Dumbledore, despite being possessed by the man in question, Harry hadn’t dreamed much of the Dark Lord himself.

It didn’t surprise Harry that he was starting to dream about Voldemort now, though. After all, Dumbledore had shared the prophesy with him. Harry knew what awaited him at the end of this unavoidable path, and it wasn’t Bellatrix Lestrange or some mystical veil. He would have to face Voldemort in the end. He would have to kill or be killed. Was that what the dream was trying to tell him? What had it meant?


	2. A Change of Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence (not very graphic)

“Severus, I have done much deliberating since yesterday.” Severus Snape swept down the brick laid path in the back gardens of Malfoy Manor a half step behind the Dark Lord. It was a clear summer day, with hardly a cloud in the sky. It was strange to see the Dark Lord out in the light, among Narcissa’s prize winning rose bushes. His black cloak was up over his head, as if to protect his hairless head from the beauty of the sunlit afternoon. Yet his feet were bare as they padded silently along the red bricks. Severus didn’t offer any response to the Dark Lord’s comment, even when the wraith before him let his words hang with an unnaturally long pause.

Severus knew better than to try and fill the silence. That was a rookie mistake. The prolonged stillness probably made most of the Dark Lord’s followers uncomfortable, but Severus reveled in quietude, detested unnecessary chatter, and was not a man easily made uncomfortable. He simply strode at a relaxed pace by his master’s shoulder, while the man’s oversized pet slithered along nearby, a literal snake in the grass.

The Dark Lord turned a corner past a fountain with a carved marble mermaid lounging in the sun. She turned and almost gave them a friendly wave, until she saw who it was gliding by. She instantly froze and tried to pretend to be solid stone. Severus wasn’t sure where the Dark Lord was leading him, but he knew better than to ask. He simply waited for the man to speak again. “I have thought very carefully about each and every piece of news that you delivered. I have thought over what you told me of the ring, and its curse, and Dumbledore’s inevitable demise.”

They passed through a stone archway. The Dark Lord’s serpentine monster was still at their heels as the strange company headed out of the main formal garden area. They were in the informal gardens now. Instead of perfectly trimmed shrubbery and magical statuary, there were willow trees and fairy lights. Severus wondered if the Dark Lord was leading him to the large hedge maze ahead to their right. He wasn’t sure if that would be a good sign or not, so he simply followed along and let the Dark Lord’s words hang in the air. He still didn’t know whether the Dark Lord was planning to laud him, punish him, or kill him, and he had no intention of acting until he was given some indication as to which mood his master was in.

“I have thought over what you said about Harry Potter, his connection to me through a piece of my own soul, and Dumbledore’s clever little plan to eventually sacrifice the boy.” The Dark Lord eyed Severus critically for another moment, before finally ending the torment. “I believe you are speaking the truth, and that you are correct in your assessments.”

Severus couldn’t help it. He closed his eyes in relief and let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. The potion’s master hadn’t been foolish enough to tell his lord about Lily, or changing sides, or about his genuine concern for the boy’s life. He was sure he would have been struck down in an instant if he had. So he hadn’t been sure how to convince the Dark Lord of the truth behind his words. Dumbledore was dying, and he had confessed that Severus needed to inform the boy of the trapped soul shard, in case the headmaster didn’t get the chance. The potion’s master was a little surprised that the Dark Lord had believed the story so readily, but knew better than to question any mercy he received.

They reached another fork and the Dark Lord led them left, away from the hedge maze. Now Severus was getting very curious about where they were going. However, he continued to say nothing, allowing the other man to take complete control of both their jaunt and their conversation. “The ring belonged to me. The curse placed on it was my own creation. I went to check the ring’s whereabouts after our conversation, only to discover that it had, indeed, been stolen and the area around was rank with Dumbledore’s magic.” So that explained it. “I’m surprised the man was able to buy himself any time at all. The old man must know more about the Dark Arts than he likes to let on.”

Severus kept his features perfectly passive and expressionless as they began making their way up a small slope. His mind was carefully blank. The potions master had also neglected to mention that he had been the one to heal the headmaster. It was best to let the Dark Lord believe Dumbledore had healed himself, and Severus had every intention of reinforcing this belief. “My Lord, Albus Dumbledore has always been particularly skilled in keeping secrets. For a man who claims to be a champion for the Light, he seems to operate almost entirely in shadow.”

Severus could see the Dark Lord’s lips quirk up at that, even in the shadow of his dark hood. Severus knew how much his supposed master delighted in taunts at the expense of the headmaster. “Indeed,” the man agreed. As they reached the crest of the small hill, the Malfoy family quidditch pitch came into view. The professor furrowed his brow. That couldn’t possibly be their destination, could it? The Dark Lord gave no elaboration about where they were headed, but simply continued with their previous topic. “As for the boy, I will admit, I am not yet entirely certain what I will do with him.”

Severus nodded. At least that was an improvement compared to obsessively trying to kill Potter. “Yes, my Lord.”

“However, until I decide what is to be done with him, the boy cannot be killed.” Severus nodded again. They definitely seemed to be headed for the quidditch pitch now. The potion’s master couldn’t think of any reason why that would be their destination. He certainly couldn’t imagine the Dark Lord wanting to go for a leisurely broom ride in the afternoon sun. However, the wraith-like man continued to offer no clarification about their destination and instead explained his plans for the Boy-Who-Lived. “It would be preferable if my soul fragment was within my reach. Somewhere close, where its safety can be guaranteed. The boy will need to be brought to the Manor, and kept under heavy protection until it can be determined whether my soul can be extracted or not.”

Severus had not anticipated this outcome, and he felt like a fool for not even thinking of it. But then, if the Dark Lord wanted to hold the boy hostage, surely that was a better option than outright murdering him? Was this why they were fast approaching the quidditch pitch? Did the Dark Lord plan on bringing Potter to the Manor via broomstick? “My Lord, it will not be an easy task to remove the boy from his hiding place, the Order is already keeping him under their own protection.”

The Dark Lord did not look happy about Severus’s observation. As his magic lashed out, a nearby tree splintered to their right, and an enormous branch came crashing to the ground. The mammoth snake had to reroute around it in order to follow its master. “The Order can hardly be said to be ‘protecting’ him when they are merely keeping him alive long enough for him to be slaughtered along with my precious soul. I want Harry Potter brought here before Dumbledore can enact his little scheme and have the boy finished off.”

Severus nodded, but his master was hardly paying attention. “My Lord, of course. However, we are fortunate that time is on our side. From what he alluded to me, the headmaster has absolutely no intention of killing the boy himself. He wishes for you to do the honors. In fact, he was quite specific that you, my Lord, must be the only one to carry out that task.” They approached the broom shed, but the Dark Lord continued right past it without pause. They were going to the quidditch pitch without brooms? “Aside from that, my Lord, the headmaster has no reason to believe (as of yet) that you might not end boy’s life the first chance you get. He would have no reason to try and take out the boy himself. I believe your soul is not in any immediate danger.”

The Dark Lord’s mood soured further. The broom shed to their left shook with the force of his unrestrained magic. The brick path below them cracked and quivered. Did the man know how wild and unstable his magic behaved when his temper elevated? “I don’t care what was alluded. Dumbledore knows that Harry Potter carries a piece of me, and the old man will do anything to see me defeated. We already know that he is more than willing to have his little pet put down. I do not want to give him the opportunity. Where is the boy now?”

“My Lord, he is currently under the protection of the blood wards at the home of his muggle relatives in Surrey. We will have to wait until Potter is moved for us to strike.”

The Dark Lord nodded. “When is the Order going to remove him?”

“The Order is not going to remove him, my Lord. Albus Dumbledore is going himself to retrieve the boy. I do not know the exact date, but I know it is soon. I will confirm the exact date and time of his move, and inform you immediately, my Lord.”

The Dark Lord passed through another archway as they entered the quidditch pitch. The bricks below them continued to tremble, and Severus had to walk very carefully to maintain his footing. The Dark Lord led Severus and the snake out onto the well-trimmed, grassy field. “The time and date do not matter. If we try to take the boy out from Dumbledore’s personal grasp, he would just as soon kill the little Gryffindor than allow him to fall into my possession.” Severus did not personally believe that to be the case, but he withheld his opinion on the matter. “Where will Dumbledore take him?”

“I’m not entirely certain, my Lord, an Order safe house of some type. Dumbledore has been extremely tightlipped about where Harry Potter would be spending the summer, and I don’t believe the headmaster would tell me even if I asked. I know the boy has spent other summers with the Weasley family, so it could possibly be there. However, they may think that was too obvious, and send him somewhere else instead.”

The Dark Lord narrowed his red, cat-like eyes. He was obviously upset, and Severus could understand why. The Dark Lord had never liked the idea of anything being outside of his control. Severus could only imagine how he felt about a piece of his own soul being at the mercy of a reckless teenager and a scrupulously righteous old wizard who both shared a single-minded desire to destroy him. 

The Dark Lord continued toward the center of the grassy pitch, and the professor realized for the first time that there was something there. “Perhaps you are right, Severus,” the Dark Lord relented. “Perhaps the summer will not be the best time to retrieve him.”

Severus nodded. “As you wish, my Lord. However, I’m sure I do not need to remind you that after the summer, the boy will be returning to Hogwarts, where Dumbledore has arranged for additional Auror protection around the castle and grounds.”

The two reached their destination, and Severus realized that the ‘something’ in the center of the field wasn’t a thing at all, but a person, bound and gagged, now lying helplessly at the Dark Lord’s feet. For one horrifying moment, Severus had thought it was Potter, but the hair wasn’t right. This man seemed to have chestnut brown hair, far too tidy to be the boy’s. Besides, this man was too old to be Potter; perhaps in his thirties or forties. He didn’t look at all familiar. 

The Dark Lord looked down at his captive in excited anticipation, before he turned to his servant. “Give me your arm, Severus.” The man did so without question, stepping forward and pulling up his left sleeve to reveal the skull and snake on his forearm. The Dark Lord pulled out his wand and tapped the Dark Mark, without giving any word of explanation as to whom he was summoning to join them. The Mark burned for a moment just as the wand made contact, but Severus showed not one single outward sign of discomfort.

That anxiously excited expression returned, as the serpentine man looked back down at the figure on the ground as if he were a delicious rodent he was about to eat. Even the pet snake was circling in eager anticipation, probably hoping for scraps.

Severus waited for an explanation, but when none came, he finally took it upon himself. “My Lord, may I enquire whom this third party is? Who has the displeasure of inciting your wrath?”

The man in question seemed only half-conscious and was whimpering pathetically. The Dark Lord appeared highly amused. “Not a who, Severus, but a what. This is a muggle who simply wandered onto the Malfoy grounds, into the surrounding forest. Greyback informed me that one of his wolves found this thing lost in the woods, and I instructed them to bring it here.” 

Severus quirked a brow. “I’m surprised a muggle was able to get past the muggle-repellant wards. Perhaps they are not working to their full strength.”

The Dark Lord let out a dark chuckle. It was difficult to say whether he was more terrifying when he was angry or when he was gleeful. “The wards are not working at all. I took them down three days ago.”

“You took down the wards, my Lord?”

“The muggle-repelling ones, yes, Severus.” The man pulled out his wand and aimed it at the helpless form barely struggling in the grass, but he only used a severing charm to cut the bindings…for now. “As you can see, it’s much easier to hunt when you simply let the prey come to you.”

Severus watched the man struggle blindly to pull the ropes off him. “Is that what you plan to do with Potter? Let him come to you?”

The Dark Lord looked very pleased with that enquiry. “The boy is out of my reach while he is in the school, as long as Dumbledore sits as headmaster. However, the boy has already shown that he is more than capable of sneaking away from the school, and more than eager to escape the careful protection of his keepers, should the safety or welfare of his friends come into question.” Severus nodded; the boy did have a knack for running headfirst into danger.

They watched the muggle for a few minutes as he wrestled out of the ropes and pulled the gag and blindfold from his face. He seemed rather out of sorts. Severus wondered what the werewolves did to him before they brought him here, even without the gag in his mouth, the man didn’t seem quite able to form words. He simply mumbled and cried. Severus found it difficult to muster sympathy for the man, not that he really wanted to. It wouldn’t really do either of them any good in the end.

Suddenly a voice called out from the edge of the pitch. “My Lord?” Both black-clad figures turned to see Draco Malfoy striding quickly across the grassy field. So, that was who the Dark Lord had summoned. Once he was close enough, the young man sank to his knees with his head bowed low. His expensive, tailored robes bunched up on the dry grass, and his platinum blond hair fell over his eyes.

“Draco,” the Dark Lord replied. “You arrived quite quickly. But then, I suppose it would be easy to come at a moment’s notice, when you live here as well.” It was a taunt, a power play. Of course the boy lived here; they were at Malfoy Manor. By rights, the Dark Lord should be considered a guest of Draco’s, but the Dark Lord was the lord of any place he deigned to stay, and everyone else was only there by his discretion. 

Severus wondered if the young Malfoy heir picked up on the derisive nature of the comment. Almost certainly, if the boy had been trained by Lucius. Not that young Draco could do anything about it. “Yes, of course, my Lord.” It was then that the blonde seemed to notice the shaking and sniveling man trying desperately to get to his feet, on the other side of his master. At least the boy had the sense not to ask anything too direct. “How can I be of service, my Lord?”

“Come, rise Draco.” The Dark Lord was already striding away from the muggle, back toward the covered viewing area at the edge of the pitch. “We have things to discuss.”

The Malfoy family quidditch field was much smaller than the Hogwarts stadium, and the goal hoops were much closer to the ground. It wasn’t really designed to vast quantities of spectators or full teams engaging in competitive play. It was designed with summer recreation in mind.

This meant that there weren’t any vast raised stands with bleacher style seats. There were some luxurious benches dispersed around the edge, but most of the time when the Malfoys or their guests came out to watch a game, they sat in a large covered picnic area. It was this area that the Dark Lord led them now.

As soon as the Dark Lord was safely in the shade, he conjured a magnificent throne and sat facing the field. The poor muggle had only just managed to get to his feet and was staring around with vacant, confused eyes. Severus wasn’t sure if the man could see them or not. 

Neither Severus nor Draco took a seat. One did not sit in the presence of the Dark Lord, unless one was invited to. As the Dark Lord lifted his wand, and allowed his magic to flow out onto the pitch, he finally addressed the young blonde who he had summoned all the way out here. “Tell me Draco, how are things progressing with the mission I assigned you two weeks ago? I hope I am not overestimating your capabilities when I assume that you must have a plan or two in motion on how you will dispose of Albus Dumbledore.” 

Draco quickly diverted his attention away from the muggle when he was being addressed by his new master. “Not at all, my Lord. Your confidence is quite well placed. I already have a possible plan on how the headmaster could be dispensed with, and I have an idea of something that could allow other Death Eaters to enter the castle. My mother is taking me to Diagon and Knockturn Alley in a few weeks, once the school list comes out, and then I will put the pieces in motion.”

The Dark Lord nodded in approval. “Ah, then I’m afraid that I have some bad news.”

Draco paled immediately. Bad news from the Dark Lord was usually very, very bad news. “My Lord?” Severus was watching the Dark Lord’s magic travel around the edge of the field. He seemed to be setting up some type of ward around the perimeter. Most likely a muggle-repellant ward, to trap his prey inside.

“The task I assigned you, Draco. It is no longer necessary. I no longer wish you to end the life of Albus Dumbledore. I hope you did not waste too much of your time.” The cruel smirk on the Dark Lord’s face showed that he couldn’t care less what Draco had wasted.

The poor boy seemed torn between relief that he no longer had to face such a seemingly impossible task and fear that he was being punished for something. “H-have I done something wrong, my Lord?”

“Not at all, Draco. I simply wish for you to complete a different task. One which I believe will be more suited to your specific situation.”

Draco was nervously rubbing his hands together behind his back. It was amazing how even the most well trained and composed purebloods seemed to fall apart under the heavy stare of those red eyes. “My specific situation?”

Once the ward was complete, the Dark Lord reveled at his own handiwork. Severus wondered what the game would be now, but didn’t have to wait long for an answer. The Dark Lord opened his mouth and hissed some sort of command to his monstrous snake, who seemed only too happy to obey. She slinked through the shimmer of the wards and immediately made her way across the pitch toward the muggle who was now hobbling around, still trying to find his bearings.

The poor teenager beside Severus seemed paler than he had perhaps ever seen him. Severus wondered if he would look away, or if the memory of this day would mar his feelings about his beloved quidditch pitch for years to come. Severus remembered sitting under this exact canopy once, sipping tea with Narcissa while Lucius showed a young Draco how to ride his new training broom. It felt like a lifetime ago now. Slowly they watched the snake stalk closer and closer to her prey.

Severus didn’t think anything would be able to pull his attention from the horrifying scene before him, but then the Dark Lord spoke and broke the tense silence. “The new task, Draco, which I would like you to devote your time and attention to, is to befriend Harry Potter.”

That actually got Draco to look away from the man-eating snake which was about to live up to its title. “Harry Potter?”

“Yes, Draco. Your new task will be to gain the friendship and trust of Harry James Potter. I believe he is in your year at Hogwarts, is he not?”

“Er, I mean, he is, my Lord.”

“Excellent, and you are familiar with the boy, are you not?”

Draco was clearly torn, looking between the terrible eyes of the Dark Lord, and the snake which was now seconds away from striking. “I do know him, obviously. I mean, he’s in Gryffindor, though. Harry Potter…he…I mean, we don’t exactly…get along, my Lord.”

Suddenly the snake lunged, and it was some sort of miracle that the man happened to trip at just the right moment that the beast ended up in the grass beside him. Suddenly, the poor confused fellow seemed to realize that something was even more wrong than he previously thought (whatever it was that he had been thinking) and he suddenly pushed himself up and started half-hobbling, half-running back across to the other side of the pitch.

The Dark Lord had a particularly evil grin. “It seems the muggle is cleverer than I thought. This will be much more entertaining than originally presumed. I believe we have finally found something useful to do with this field. I would say this is a far more entertaining sport than watching wizards try to knock each other off brooms, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Snape responded immediately.

It took Draco another second or two to collect himself. His face was blank, and only his eyes revealed his inner terror. “Of course, my Lord.”

They watched in silence for another minute and the fifteen foot snake uncoiled herself and slithered much more quickly after her fleeing prey. It was the Dark Lord who broke the spell. “I did not assume that you were currently close to Dumbledore’s little pet, Draco. I do not specifically care what the nature of your current relationship is with the boy. The only thing I care about is that you complete this task. You will make Harry Potter believe that you are his friend. You will make him believe that you are someone that he can trust and confide in. And then you will lure him here to the manor. Is that understood?”

Draco looked utterly terrified, and Severus could understand why. Given the nature of the two boys’ relationship, this task probably seemed significantly more difficult than killing Albus Dumbledore. The blonde was probably imagining what would happen to him if he failed to befriend Harry Potter, and his imagination probably included that snake. However, his voice was perfectly level when he answered his new master. “Yes, my Lord. Of course, my Lord.” After a slight pause he seemed to remember himself. “Thank you for honoring me with this task.”

There was a loud crunch sound, and all three of them turned back to look at the pitch. The snake had finally caught her lunch. She had latched onto the man’s torso, and her body was wrapped around him as he fell to the ground. He would not get back up again. Even if the snake wasn’t full of deadly venom, there was just so much blood spraying from his chest that no one would be able to survive for long. 

The Dark Lord smiled like a proud parent. “Such a good girl. I will inform Greyback that if the werewolves catch any more muggles wondering around the grounds, they should bring them here. I was beginning to worry Nagini was not getting enough exorcise inside the Manor.”

Draco’s expressionless face had turned a faint shade of green. Severus knew that Draco had been escaping to the quidditch pitch rather often this summer, to ride his broom is peace, and clear his mind from the thoughts of the war and his responsibilities. That was probably over now. There was nowhere for any of them to escape anymore.

Fortunately, the Dark Lord wasn’t paying the least attention to his newest Death Eater. He was too focused on watching his pet play with her food. When he spoke, he didn’t remove his eyes from the sight. “You may go now, Draco. You may wish to plan how you will win over the little Light wizard.” 

Draco nodded mutely and gave a final bow before he made his way toward the archway, while keeping as far away from the snake as possible. He moved like a walking corpse. He would be, if he wasn’t able to win over Potter, and Severus couldn’t imagine how the boy planned on doing that.

Severus watched the snake slowly swallow what was left of the man. He had seen worse things in his life, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to see more. However, he hadn’t been dismissed, so clearly the Dark Lord wasn’t finished with him yet.

“Severus, you will keep an eye on young Draco. Make sure he is accomplishing my task.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“You will also keep an eye on Harry Potter. Make sure that he is not putting my soul in any unnecessary risk. Make sure that the old man does not suspect anything has changed. Feed him some story about how I am planning to kill the boy.”

Severus nodded yet again. “Yes, my Lord. If you wish, I can tell the headmaster that it is your plan to arrange for his own assassination. Since that had been your previous plan, I’m sure he will find it believable.” It would be easy enough, since that was what Severus had already told Dumbledore.

The Dark Lord smiled at the idea. The snake was still devouring her meal. It was a horribly slow process. “Yes, tell him that. Tell him I am planning to send someone to kill him. He will have no idea that I have already figured out his little secret.” 

“Yes, my Lord.” Dumbledore was already under the impression that Draco Malfoy would be trying to kill him. Severus had promised the headmaster that he would accomplish the task instead. He had even made an unbreakable vow to Narcissa.

Suddenly, Severus froze. The vow. He had made an unbreakable vow that he would help Draco accomplish his task. Even perform it himself, if Draco was incapable. He didn’t promise to kill Dumbledore, he promised to perform the task the Dark Lord assigned Draco. At the time, those two had been the same thing, but now Draco had a new task. Draco was tasked to gain Harry Potter’s trust and lure him back to Malfoy Manor, into the waiting arms of the Dark Lord. It seemed that now Severus was required to help him with that task, or else his life was over.

“That is all, Severus.” The Dark Lord’s words returned him to the present. He would have to think things through when he had time to consider everything, without another legilimens only a few feet away.

“Yes, my Lord.” He bowed reverentially and turned to follow Draco’s route back through the archway.

“Severus,” he was interrupted before he could make his escape. “Before you leave the manor, tell Bellatrix to meet me in my study. There is something I need her to return to me.”

Severus bowed his head, and then made his way out of the quidditch pitch as quickly as was possible without drawing undue attention.

***

Draco Malfoy did not appreciate the change of plans. He could not imagine a worse assignment. Was this some sort of punishment? Draco knew that the Dark Lord was angry with his father, he knew that the task of killing Dumbledore was a sort of test to prove the worth of the Malfoy family, but he had been more than up to the task. He was ready to prove himself.

How was befriending Potter a test? Anyone could do that. At least, anyone except for Draco. Potter hadn’t even been willing to shake his hand that first day on the Hogwarts Express. He couldn’t imagine that the Gryffindor would ever want to befriend him now, after everything that had happened between them since then.

Draco had been so proud to receive the assignment of killing Albus Dumbledore. It was clearly an important mission. The old man was one of the Death Eaters’ greatest enemies. He was the leader of the Light wizards, and the cause of a great deal of legislation specifically targeted against pureblood families and Dark wizards. If the man were finally gone, it would make a lot of people’s lives a lot easier.

True, the old man was probably only doing what he felt was right, but that was hardly an excuse. Besides, he was really, really old. Shouldn’t he be dead by now anyway? Killing him would practically be a mercy.

Potter, on the other hand, was an attention-hogging git, with boorish manners, obnoxious friends, and an overwhelming bias against anything remotely Dark. Just the thought of Potter made Draco want to scowl. But did that mean his schoolmate deserved to die? Of course, Draco hadn’t been tasked with killing Potter himself, but he held no illusions about what would happen to Scarhead should the Dark Lord get ahold of him. Probably something similar to what had happened to that muggle on the quidditch pitch. 

Draco had always known that the Dark Lord wanted Potter dead, it simply had never been something he thought about in any serious way. It had always been more of a vague, abstract idea, ‘The Dark Lord wants Potter dead.’ Draco knew that for certain, but he had never really imagined the Dark Lord actually killing Potter. The boy seemed to have an almost unnatural ability to escape life threatening situations. It seemed like things would simply continue the way they always had. And if the Dark Lord ever did manage to eventually finish Potter off, which seemed like to only possibly conclusion to this tale, it would almost certainly be Potter’s own fault, for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

On the other hand, if Draco himself was the one to deliver Potter to the Dark Lord, then Potter’s death wasn’t really his own fault, it was Draco’s. So what? Draco hated Potter. He hated Potter’s arrogant attitude, and his overly flashy broom-handling, and his disheveled mess of black hair, and his ill-fitting clothing, and his ugly scar, and his hypnotizing green eyes. Everything. He hated everything. But Draco had never really wanted Potter to end up dead. Not really; not in any real way.  
It didn’t matter now, he supposed. Potter was going to die one way or another, and if Draco was the one to deliver the other boy to his master, he would surely be rewarded for his loyalty and cleverness. Draco’s father would almost certainly be forgiven, and the status of the Malfoy family in the Dark Lord’s eyes would be restored to its former glory. 

Which left one very serious question: how in Merlin’s name would he convince Harry Potter that he was a friend? Draco had been going over this seemingly impossible puzzle for weeks now. He knew, of course, that any relationship between them would have to start off with an apology, as distasteful as that idea was. Draco would probably also have to convince Potter that he was disavowing the Dark Arts since the Gryffindor Golden Boy seemed so obnoxiously opposed to them. 

He had a vague idea of how he might approach Potter. First of all, he would need to get the other boy alone. Draco had no intention of making nice while Weasley and that nosey mudblood butted in. Perhaps he would try and corner Potter on the Hogwarts Express, while his Prefect friends were making their rounds. However, the Chosen One would probably have other Gryffindors fawning over him. Maybe Draco could try to get him alone after class one day? 

The question of when to approach Harry Potter was more or less answered for him the day he was shopping for new uniforms with his mother at Madam Malkin’s and someone rudely walked into him. Draco spun around to give them a piece of his mind, only to come face to face with the very same young man he had been thinking about nonstop for weeks. The words seemed to die in his throat. He hadn’t expected to see Potter until at least King’s Cross Station. What was he possibly going to do now?

“Draco, darling, I just need to…” His mother was coming around the corner with Madam Malkin, carrying bags of his newest wares. They came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Draco’s worst nightmare. The young man he was expected to deliver to death. The young man he was expected to earn the trust of.

Obviously, Draco had already informed his mother of his new assignment, which she hadn’t seemed particularly happy about. So she immediately realized Draco’s conundrum at having come face to face with Potter before he had really prepared himself for such a thing. At least she had the wherewithal to act naturally in such a bizarre situation. “As I was saying, Draco, I just need to pay for these things, and then we can move on.”

Draco barely registered her words. He was frozen in place, staring into the bright green eyes he would be expected to help snuff out. Weasley was muttering something to his friend, but Draco neither listened nor cared. He only had eyes for Potter.

It wasn’t until Draco’s ‘new friend’ finally spoke up that the Slytherin finally snapped out of his trance. “What’s your problem, Malfoy?”

Draco realized that he was being ridiculous, and probably suspicious. He had a task. He needed to befriend Potter and then deliver him to the Dark Lord, and that was what he was going to do. “Potter, I need to speak with you.”

Potter was eyeing him critically. “Fine. Go ahead and speak. No one’s stopping you.”

Draco considered that for a moment. He supposed that he could simply try to explain here and now. But then he didn’t think he would be able to bring himself to offer any sort of explanation with the bloody shopkeeper watching, least of all Potter’s little minions.

Unsure how to proceed, Draco turned to his mother, his desperate expression offering a silent question. Her briefest nod was all the confirmation that he needed. If Draco didn’t try to make amends now, it would look suspicious if he tried in a couple weeks, once school was under way. Whether he was ready or not, it was now or never. “I need to talk to you…in private.”

“No bloody way.” Potter didn’t even give him a moment to explain.

Weasley suddenly stepped forward, like a dog trying to scare strangers away from its master. “Yeah, sod off, Malfoy. He’s not going anywhere with you.”

Draco didn’t have time for the ginger, and only spared him the briefest glare before returning his attention to his actual target. “We don’t have to go anywhere. We could just talk…” Draco’s eyes scanned around the shop as quickly as he could, searching for a suitable neutral location. “Right there.” He pointed to the front window on the other side of the display mannequins. The window was large and clear, offering the perfect view of the street outside, and the obvious Auror standing just across the way. “We could just step right outside. Your friends will still be able to see you fine. There are plenty of people in the street. I just don’t want to be overheard.”

Potter rolled his eyes. His little friends looked just as unimpressed. “You don’t want to be overheard…so no one can hear you threaten me?”

Did Potter really think that witnesses would be what stopped Draco from threatening him? They kept arguing until Draco finally burst out, “Please, it’s important. I need to talk to you. The sooner the better.”

Potter looked utterly shocked, his eyes were wide, and his mouth was gaping like a fish. What did Draco say to make him look so completely surprised? Potter seemed to catch himself quickly enough, though. “How do I know you won’t hex me as soon as I step outside the door?”

In the end, Draco had to pull out his wand and hand it over to his mother. All the while, with Potter and his little friends looking ready for a duel, as if they thought he was stupid enough to hex the Chosen One in the middle of Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. 

When Draco held the front door open for Potter, the other boy seemed clearly torn. Potter must have been sure that Draco was up to something, however he didn’t seem to understand what exactly. Draco simply gave him an innocent look. “Are you coming or not?”

Potter finally made his way toward the exit. “How do you know I won’t hex you?”

Draco had to hold back a laugh. “Oh please, Potter, you’re not going to attack someone who’s unarmed. You’re too noble for that.” Despite Draco’s determination to make nice with Potter, he couldn’t help but spit out the words derisively. Pointing out Potter’s flaws was just too fun to pass up.

When the two were finally out in the alley, standing opposite each other in clear view of the shoppers inside, and the Auror across the way, Potter broke first. “All right, Malfoy, I’m here. Let’s get this over with. What did you want to say?”

Draco barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes. Potter was so bloody annoying. This was going to be a lot harder than he thought. “I want to offer you a truce.” When Potter simply gawked at him, Draco continued, undeterred. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore. This…I don’t know…rivalry thing. Whatever this is. I’m done. In fact, the whole thing, all of it, I’m done.”

***

Harry gaped at the little ferret. Where was Malfoy going with this? What could possibly be the angle here? This could not be believed. “What are you talking about?”

Malfoy took a deep breath, as if he were struggling to get the words out. “My father’s in Azkaban, Potter. I don’t know when or if he’s getting out. I don’t know when or if I will see him again. Oh, and of course, there’s also the fact that he failed the Dark Lord. Azkaban is probably the safest place for him. If he’s freed, I don’t know what the Dark Lord will do.” Harry didn’t need to use much imagination to figure out that it wouldn’t be good.

Malfoy continued his little tirade. “My mother is…well, she’s an exceptionally strong woman. It would take more than that to break her. But, I just feel like my family is…You know what? None of this is really any of your business. It doesn’t matter. The point is, I’m done. I’m out. I don’t want anything more to do with any of this; I just want to pick up the pieces of my life and try to repair my family’s standing, and the last thing I need in my life is some ridiculous competition with the Wizarding World’s Savior.”

Harry couldn’t believe that Malfoy expected him to buy this nonsense. Malfoy hated him. Malfoy had always hated him, and there was no way that was going to change just because Lucius Malfoy was behind bars. “I thought it my fault your father was in prison? That’s what you said last term, when you tried to attack me on the Hogwarts Express, isn’t it? That it was all my fault that your family was falling apart. Why try to play nice now? What is this?”

Malfoy flinched, as if the words actually stung him. Harry turned toward the window again to make sure his friends were alright. Ron was watching him like a hawk, while Hermione was in the far corner with Madam Malkin fussing over her. Mrs. Malfoy had finished paying for her many bags of clothes, and was sitting down in a chintzy little seat by the front counter with a paperback book open in her lap. If this was some sort of trap, it was a very strange one.

Harry turned back to Malfoy only to see that the blond looked almost regretful. “Yes. I suppose I did say that.” Malfoy looked like he might be in actual, physical pain. “I…may have jumped…a little too hastily…to the most convenient conclusion.” Malfoy paused again, but Harry was in no hurry to help him out with whatever words he was tripping over. “I hated you. My father was there at the Department of Mysteries because of you…in a roundabout sort of way. I wanted to blame you. I realized after speaking with our solicitor that I, perhaps, misjudged your overall accountability in the events of that night.”

Harry couldn’t listen to this nonsense anymore. “I was one hundred percent accountable for what happened that night. If you want someone to blame, please, feel free to blame me. In fact, I’m much more comfortable with your hatred and scorn than whatever this is.” Harry would much prefer Malfoy’s cruel sarcasm to this strange, nervous stammering. “Besides, it was my fault. I led my friends into danger. I rushed in without thinking of the consequences…again. I’m not so cowardly as to let someone else take the blame for my mistakes.”

Malfoy looked as coldly unimpressed as usual. “Wait, I can’t tell. Do you actually think that whole fiasco was your fault, or are you just trying to seem noble?”

Harry hands curled into fists, and he had to hold himself back from launching at that smug Slytherin. “Fiasco? Is that what you call it? It was a nightmare. It was the single most painful experience of my life. It was a tragedy. Someone I loved died. My godfather died. He’s dead because of me. Screw you, Malfoy. You know what, thanks for the non-apology, or whatever this was. I think we’re done here.”

Harry started to walk around Malfoy to rejoin his friends inside the shop, but before he’d even gone two steps, Malfoys voice made him halt. “It’s not your fault.”

Harry gave him a disbelieving look. “Yes, it is.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Shut up, you git!”

“It’s. Not. Your. Fault.”

Harry had had enough. “You don’t know anything!” He whipped out his wand, but he wasn’t sure why. He still had the trace after all, it’s not like he could actually hex Malfoy, but he really didn’t care at that moment.

The Auror across the way also pulled out his wand, and looked like he was starting to come over, but Harry couldn’t stand the idea of anyone listening to this rubbish. He didn’t want anyone to hear Malfoy talking about how that night was not his fault, when he knew it was. Harry waved the Auror back, but he kept his glare on Malfoy.

Suddenly Ron’s head appeared in the doorway. His wand was instantly trained on Malfoy’s back. “What the hell did you say, Malfoy?”

Malfoy didn’t respond at all. He just gave Harry a cold, appraising look. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off him. “It’s fine, Ron. Go back inside. We’re just talking.”

Ron wasn’t having it. “What did he say to make you draw your wand? What’s going on?”

“Nothing Ron. Malfoy’s just being obnoxious, and I lost my temper. It’s fine. Go back inside.”

Ron was not so easily swayed. “You don’t need to listen to whatever shite he’s spewing, Harry. Here, just come inside with me.” Ron turned his head to Malfoy, but the blond wouldn’t know that. He was still facing Harry, with his back toward the door, completely uncaring that Ron almost certainly had a wand trained on his back. “He’s done talking to you, Malfoy.”

Harry had expected his long-time rival to argue this, but to Harry’s enormous surprise, Malfoy simply nodded his head. “I honestly wasn’t trying to upset you. If you don’t want to hear what I have to say, I can’t exactly force you.”

What was happening to the world? Harry had no idea why he said it, but the words were tumbling out of his mouth before his brain had time to review their meaning. “Ron, it’s fine. We’re just chatting. I’ll be back in a minute. Just give us a sec, okay?”

Ron gave the back of Malfoy’s head one more critical glance before he finally relented. “Alright Harry, if you’re sure. Hermione’s almost done, so I’m about to start my fitting. If you need anything at all, just wave.”

“Thanks Ron.” The door shut again with a little click. Harry could see Ron striding back to explain who-knows-what to Hermione. Malfoy also eyed the redhead through the large window glass, but didn’t offer any comment. Harry still wasn’t sure what to make of this whole situation, but he stowed his wand back in his pocket and gave Malfoy a critical look. “Why would you say that it wasn’t my fault?”

At the question, the Slytherin turned his attention back to the young man across from him. “Because it’s not?” Harry glared again, so Malfoy elaborated. “My father’s solicitor told me what happened. He said that the Dark Lord set a trap for you, to steal something from the Department of Mysteries, that only you could retrieve.” Malfoy paused here, and eyed Harry carefully, but Harry kept his face in the same annoyed scowl, so he continued. “Now, I’m not entirely certain of this part, but seeing as the Prophet won’t shut up about some stupid prophecy about you being the Chosen One with the power to defeat the Dark Lord, I assume it has to do with that.” Again, he paused, but Harry wasn’t about to give any information on that topic to Draco Malfoy of all people.

Finally, Malfoy seemed to realize this, as well. “Regardless, the Dark Lord set a trap for you. He tricked you into going by making you think he had taken your godfather hostage. My father and the others went to capture you and your friends. Dumbledore and his cronies showed up and saved you, but Black was killed in the firefight.” Harry thought he might be sick. It was painful enough to be reminded of that terrible evening, let alone have the details spewed so cavalierly from the mouth of this sniveling ferret.

When, once again, Harry refused to contribute to the conversation, Draco went on ahead. “Look, far be it from me to stop you if you want to wallow in your own self-misery. By all means, continue your little pity party as long as you like. I just feel like you should know it’s not your fault. That night. Because it isn’t.”

Harry was done. “I can’t deal with this right now, Malfoy. I don’t want to talk about any of this with anyone. Least of all, you. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I can’t imagine that you’re possibly not up to something. The last time I saw you, you tried to attack me. Now, you’re trying to console me? No. I don’t know what you’re selling, Malfoy, but whatever it is, I’m not buying it.”

Again, before Harry had a chance to move toward the door, Malfoy’s words brought him to a halt. “You’re right, of course.” Harry glared again. What was this? “You’re right. Theo and I tried to attack you. We had just learned our fathers were in Azkaban. It seemed, at the time, like it was your fault. I acted rashly.” Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing, until Malfoy just had to add one more little comment. “To be fair, though, your little minions cursed us behind our backs, so I feel like we’re more than even.”

Harry’s wand was back in his hand. “Even? Even!? You have been nothing but a relentless bully to me and my friends since the first time we boarded the Hogwarts Express. You have taken every single opportunity to mock me, provoke me, and humiliate me. You have tried your absolute hardest to tear me down, to get me expelled, or to hurt me in any way you could think of. We will never be even.” Harry tried to catch his breath. Malfoy’s face was pale as ash again. “If you want to suddenly stop being an arsehole; then fine. Great, even. I’m certainly not stopping you, but don’t you dare expect me to feel sorry for you just because your father is locked up. The only family I had left is now dead, and it’s your family’s fault; them and the monster they serve.” 

“I thought you said it was your fault.”

Harry reeled. “I thought you said it wasn’t.”

Harry tried to calm himself down. He couldn’t hex Malfoy here in the street with pedestrians eyeing them curiously from across the way, no matter how tempting the prospect was. He could see Hermione looking concerned on the other side of the glass. He just gave her a dismissive wave to try and alleviate her fears. Ron was trapped on Madam Malkin’s pedestal, yelling something Harry couldn’t hear. He appeared to have a large pin sticking into his arm. He must have jumped when Harry pulled out his wand again, only to get poked with one of her many needles. Mrs. Malfoy simply sat primly with her attention entirely on her paperback, completely unconcerned about Hermione’s fretting, Ron’s screaming, or Harry threatening her son at wand point. 

Malfoy sighed, as if he was losing patience with Harry. “You know what? Whatever. I don’t know what I expected. I wanted to extend you a peace-offering, but I should have known you’d never take it.”

Harry scowled. “I don’t know why you thought I would ever accept anything from you.”

Harry thought Malfoy would look down his nose with his usual pompous sneer, but he rolled his eyes instead, as if he were exasperated. “Oh, no! Merlin forbid the perfect, precious, Boy-Who-Lived, Chosen Scarhead debase himself by having a civil conversation with someone from a Dark Family.” His voice quivered on the last two words as if he were talking to a child about the Boogey Man. Then his sneer returned with a vengeance. “Well, screw you, you hypocrite, because your godfather was a Black. He was from the same family as me, on my mother’s side. We were related!”

Harry had no idea what that had to do with anything. “I know that.”

“What do you mean you know that?”

Harry shrugged. “He showed me the Black Family Tree. You were on it. I knew you two were related. How does that make me a hypocrite? I don’t like you because you’re a prat. I liked him because he was a great guy. I don’t care about your family. It’s you I don’t like.”

“Oh?” Malfoy looked completely disbelieving. “And yet when I first offered you an alliance you practically spat in my eye because you were from a precious Light Family, and you couldn’t stand to associate with anyone from a terrible Dark Family.”

Harry was lost again. “What do you mean Light Family and Dark Family?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Malfoy was looking at him as if he didn’t quite believe what Harry was saying.

“I…well, I mean, I guess I have an idea what you’re talking about. It’s not hard to figure out. I’ve just never heard it phrased quite that way before.”

“Phrased what way? You can’t honestly tell me you’ve never heard anyone talk about Light Families and Dark Families.”

Harry tried not to blush. If he had a sickle for every time he found out something important about the wizarding world that apparently everyone else knew except him and no one had bothered to tell him about, he’d probably be richer than Malfoy. “Well, I’ve never really heard the Weasleys use those terms before. I don’t know. Sirius said his family was full of dark wizards, but…who knows? If anyone ever explained Light Families and Dark Families to me, I certainly don’t remember it.”

Malfoy looked increasingly perplexed. “You cannot honestly be that ignorant of pureblooded politics. You’re the Heir of one of the Noble Houses, aren’t you? When you turn seventeen, you’ll be able to claim your Lordship.”

This was news to him. “I have a Lordship? The Wizarding World has Lordships?”

It was Malfoy’s turn to gape like an idiot. He looked as if he simply couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Harry found it extremely annoying. People always seemed so surprised by how little he knew of the overall wizarding world and its ways, but it wasn’t like it was really his fault he had been shipped off to live with muggles. 

He turned away from the blonde, back toward his friends. Ron was still struggling on the pedestal. He seemed to have acquired yet another pin, this one stuck in his other arm. Madam Malkin seemed beside herself, and Hermione looked like she was trying to calm him down, so they could free him from the fitted robes.

“You’re joking,” Malfoy sneered. Harry turned back to his conversation partner. He was about to agree that the entire situation inside did look like a joke, when he realized that Malfoy wasn’t talking about Ron’s flailing, he was talking about Harry’s last comment. “This is some sort of trick. You’re lying to me. There is no possible way that you don’t know that you’re Heir Potter. You must be. Who else would it be? There aren’t any other Potters, are there?”

“Er, I don’t know, actually.” Harry thought about it. If there was an heir to the Potter family, it would definitely be him. “I don’t think there are any other Potters. Professor Dumbledore said that my muggle aunt and cousin were my only blood relatives, so I can’t imagine there’s anyone left on the Potter side. I don’t really know who I would ask, though.”

Malfoy’s face suddenly scrunched with confusion. “Wait, if you’re this ignorant about Pureblood customs and politics and, apparently, your entire wizarding family, why did you so rudely snub my offer of friendly relations?”

This conversation was like some weird roller coaster of confusion. “What snub? What offer of friendly relations?”

“On the bloody train!” Malfoy’s voice almost squeaked with indignance. “I visited your compartment and I offered you an alliance. I offered you my help and my friendship. That was a very big deal. You could have politely refused, you could have been vague and kept things neutral, but no!” Malfoy took a step forward with a nasty scowl on his face. Harry, without even thinking, took a step back, stumbling on the uneven cobbles. “You didn’t even shake my hand. You wouldn’t even deign to touch me. You were just so much better than me. You were the precious Boy-Who-Lived and you didn’t need to show one ounce of respect to a Malfoy! How did you expect me to treat you after that?”

“That’s not what happened at all!” This time Harry took two steps forward, so they were only a few feet apart. “You waltzed into our compartment with your two goons, who were looming over us and practically cracking their knuckles. Then you insulted Hagrid. Then you insulted my friend, just because he was a Weasley.”

Malfoy cut him off mid-rant. “I was defending my family! He practically scoffed at me when I said I was a Malfoy.”

Harry tried to think back to that day. What had happened? Malfoy had said that his name was Draco Malfoy, and Ron had scoffed at him. At the time, Harry thought Ron was laughing at him because Draco was a silly name, and the boy seemed like a prat, so why not laugh at his silly name? However, now Harry knew more about Mr. Weasley’s relationship with Lucius Malfoy, and the clear antagonism between the Weasley and Malfoy families. It did make more sense that Ron would scoff at the Malfoy part, rather than the Draco part. What had Draco said? ‘My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.’ Yes. Ron scoffed at Malfoy’s name, and Malfoy had immediately insulted the entire Weasley family. Not that that was much better, since the Weasleys were basically his adopted family, as far as Harry was concerned. However, Harry could also see Malfoy’s point. He felt that Ron had insulted his family, so he insulted Ron’s. 

“Yeah, ok, maybe he was scoffing at the Malfoy part and not the Draco part,” Harry relented.

Malfoy tilted his head in confusion. “Why would he scoff at the Draco part? What’s wrong with the name Draco?”

“It seemed like a silly name.”

“How is that in any way a silly name? That’s a fairly common Pureblood name. My great-uncle was named Draco. It’s a constellation.”

Harry shrugged again. He seemed to be doing that a lot since stepping out onto the street for this…whatever this was. “I had never met anyone named after a constellation before.”

“What are you talking about?” Malfoy kept looking at Harry as if he were speaking a different language. “Your godfather was named after a star. His father, Orion, was named after a constellation. Merlin, at least half the Black family are named after constellations.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed. “But again, I didn’t know that at the time.”

Malfoy scowled. “What did you know?”

“Not much.”

Harry could see that Ron and Hermione had finally finished their fittings and were paying at the counter. Hopefully that meant this conversation would be over soon. He was getting a little tired of discovering more and more things that he should have known, but didn’t. It was embarrassing enough when it happened around his friends, he really didn’t appreciate Malfoy figuring out just how ignorant he was.

Malfoy, however, seemed ready to stretch this out as long as possible. “Oh? You didn’t know much, but you knew that you didn’t want anything to do with me?”

Harry gave him an unimpressed look. “Well, yes. I met you at Madam Malkin’s, remember?” He waved at the very shop that stood only a couple feet from them. “You were acting like some arrogant prat.” Harry’s eyes glazed over, and his mind wondered back to that moment; the first time he had ever visited Diagon Alley, the first time he had ever met the troublesome Slytherin who would go on to do everything in his power to make Harry’s life a living hell.

“We were just standing there, awkwardly, getting fit for robes. I had never met you or seen you before in my life, and suddenly you started prattling on about what a great flyer you were.” Harry amended himself. “I’m sorry, I mean, what a great flyer your father said you were. And how your father bought you the latest broom. And how your father thought you should be on the House Team.” Malfoy rolled his eyes, but Harry continued. “You didn’t introduce yourself, or ask me my name, but you did make a point of asking me if my parents were both wizards, because Merlin forbid you accidentally make idle chit-chat with a muggleborn! Then, when my friend Hagrid came to get me, you were all too happy to share your thoughts about him. Or, I’m sorry, your father’s thoughts about him.”

Harry could finally see Ron and Hermione making their way toward the door, and this time he was more than ready for the conversation to be over. However, his hopes were dashed when Narcissa Malfoy suddenly chose this moment to acknowledge the two young Gryffindors who were in the shop with her. She appeared as if from nowhere, and immediately seemed to take up all of Hermione’s attention. What was she saying? What was happening? 

Harry’s attention was drawn back to Malfoy by the boy’s indignant voice. “That’s why you wouldn’t even touch my hand on the Hogwarts Express? Because I made a comment about mudbl – muggleborns?” He paused. “What in Merlin’s name did I say about Hagrid that was so unforgivable?”

Harry was more than ready for this. He remembered exactly what Malfoy had said. “You accused him of being some kind of wild man who lived in a shabby little hut near the forest who would get drunk and accidentally set fire to his bed!” As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Yes, Malfoy had said those terrible things. However, they were all technically true. How could Harry explain that it was the way that he said it, and not the specific things he said, and had made Harry feel so indignant?

“Oh, I’m so sorry I made such an off-base assumption. Clearly, I didn’t really know him at all. Please do explain to me how each of those accusations was completely inaccurate!”

Harry didn’t have much of an argument there, and he knew it. Which was probably why he went with such an articulate retort. “Whatever!”

Harry actually had to stop himself from cringing at how pathetic he sounded. Malfoy’s victorious smirk certainly didn’t help. Harry could see Mrs. Malfoy showing Hermione some dresses on the other side of the glass, and he knew help was not on the way. “You know why I really hated you? Because of that stupid comment you made about people who didn’t know they were a wizard until they got their letter. You said they shouldn’t even be allowed to go to Hogwarts. That’s all I needed to know. I didn’t want anything to do with you after that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Malfoy rounded on him. “I made one comment about muggleborns and you got up on your high horse and decided that’s that? You’re done with me? You’re just so good and noble compared to everyone else, that if anyone ever says anything unkind about muggleborns, they’re just dirt beneath your feet? Not even worth a simple handshake?”

“What is with you and that bloody handshake?”

“I have never been so rudely insulted in my life!” Malfoy took another step forward, but Harry did not back down. They were almost nose to nose. “You wouldn’t even touch me. I was so below you, that I didn’t even deserve the simple human curtesy of a handshake.” Malfoy’s chest was heaving, and his pointy nose flared in righteous anger. “I detest Dumbledore. He is ruining the school. He is destabilizing the Hogwarts curriculum and turning it into an international embarrassment. He is obsessed with Light Magic and believes that anything that isn’t completely pure is just plain evil. He is ruining traditions and pureblood culture. But despite all of that, at the very least, you can say that the man has basic manners.” He lifted his finger and poked Harry hard in the chest. “Unlike you.”

Harry scoffed. “Oh yeah, Dumbledore’s just rotten to the core. I guess if you and your father had your way, people like me wouldn’t even be allowed at Hogwarts.”

“I never said you shouldn’t be allowed at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, you basically did.” Both their voices were practically screaming now.

“I never even implied that.”

“Yes, you did!” Harry had had enough. “You specifically said that people who don’t even know they’re a witch or wizard until they get their Hogwarts letter shouldn’t be allowed in. You were the first wizard my age I had ever met, and you basically told me I didn’t belong.”

Malfoy looked confused for just a moment, before his eyes suddenly widened in utter shock.

Suddenly, the shop door opened. Hermione came out with several bags. “Thank you again for the suggestions, Mrs. Malfoy, but I really think two dresses will be more than enough.”

Ron was right on her heels. “I’m not sure you needed any extra dresses. It’s not like we’re planning to go to a lot of fancy dress parties this year.”

They both stopped when they saw Harry and Malfoy practically breathing down each other’s throats. Apparently, Mrs. Malfoy had successfully distracted the two Gryffindors from what was going on outside. 

Malfoy hardly spared the duo a second’s glance. He was looking at Harry as if he’d never properly seen him before. “What did you say?”

Harry didn’t bother to answer. “Hey guys, are you done?”

Hermione nodded. “Sorry we took so long. Ron was having some issues with the fitting, and then I ended up buying some extra formalwear.”

Harry offered them a cheerful smile. “Sounds great. Let’s go then?”

He started walking across the alley with his friends, when Malfoy’s voice called after him. “I’m sorry.”

Harry stopped, as did Ron and Hermione. The three of them slowly turned around to look at Malfoy’s determined face, but he only had eyes for Harry. Harry had no idea what to say to that. Words seemed to completely fail him. He was lost in Malfoy’s determined, grey stare. Malfoy had just apologized to him, and Harry wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for. Everything, supposedly. Finally, a word made it past his unyielding throat. “Okay.”

He suddenly felt embarrassed. He turned as quickly as he could and started making his way down the alley, with Ron and Hermione practically running to keep up. Their determined departure was almost the opposite of their leisurely arrival.


	3. Things Kept Hidden

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was like a phoenix among chickens. The garish colors and obnoxious signs would have stood out even in the Diagon Alley of Harry’s memory. Compared to the somber little shops where they had spent the morning, the twins’ new business was almost blindingly ostentatious.

The new joke store was loud in every sense of the word. The moment their small party entered the store, Harry could see it was packed wall to wall with customers. Whizzes and small explosions seemed to come from all around. People chattered away excitedly, as if there were no war at all. The whole place was thrumming with life and activity. It was such an incredible relief from the suffocating feel of the depressing street outside, Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer audacity of it all.

It took sixteen ‘pardon me’s, three tight squeezes, eight alternate paths, and one insistent shove before the three of them were able to find a quiet corner to talk.

“So, what the hell did Malfoy want?” Ron somehow seemed to have acquired an entire armload of products in the few minutes they’d been inside the shop.

Harry had been too busy trying to find an out-of-the-way nook, where he could relay what he’d discussed with Malfoy, to really get a good look at the products. Not that it really mattered; he felt that he was more than familiar with the items that Fred and George would stock. “I don’t know for sure. Malfoy said he wanted a truce, that he didn’t want to fight anymore.”

“Bullocks.” Ron was having the same reaction as Harry, but Hermione furrowed her brow, as if in deep thought.

Harry ignored Hermione’s contemplative look and jumped in to agree with Ron. “That’s what I said. He’s up to something. I know it. I’m just not sure what he’s getting at just yet.”

Hermione sighed. “Please tell me you didn’t antagonize him, Harry. I know Malfoy probably deserves it, but don’t you feel like you have enough on your plate this year? Don’t you think this whole rivalry thing is getting a bit silly?”

Harry scowled. “I didn’t start this, Hermione, and he sure as hell isn’t going to just let it go for nothing.”

Ron seemed to wholeheartedly agree. “Yeah, Hermione, that little ferret can’t be trusted. Harry’s right, something doesn’t smell right here.”

“I’m not saying we should trust him.” Hermione pulled them further into their little alcove as a group of third and fourth year girls ran by, their arms filled with glittery pink and purple products. “I’m just saying that, perhaps, Malfoy’s sudden eagerness to make amends might _not_ be a setup.”

Ron just scoffed, but Harry wanted to hear where she was going with this. There had been something about Malfoy’s shocked, almost scared, demeanor that just wasn’t like his usual attitude. “Why else would Malfoy want to play nice, except to get me to lower my guard so he can strike?”

Ron nodded, in complete agreement. “That’s what snakes do, Hermione.”

Hermione gave them both a reproachful glare. “Slytherins also have a habit of looking after their own self-interest. I believe they’re rather well known for it.” When Harry and Ron gave her a blank look, she continued. “Oh, come on, you two. Think about the situation from a purely self-centered perspective.”

“You mean, from Malfoy’s perspective?” Harry interrupted.

Hermione gave him another scathing look but didn’t voice her annoyance. “Sure. Think about it from Malfoy’s purely selfish perspective. His father failed You-Know-Who and is now in Azkaban. His family has been disgraced; both in the eyes of the Death Eaters, and in the eyes of the ministry. His father has completely lost his standing in both circles, and by extension, so has Malfoy. Now, Malfoy is almost of age, and will be able to enter wizarding society soon. He was probably hoping to ride his father’s coat tails into some powerful ministry position, but that’s not really an option anymore, is it? There’s a good chance that You-Know-Who is going to be seeking revenge for Malfoy Senior’s failings, so Malfoy isn’t going to have any help there. And he won’t have any allies in the Ministry anymore, not now that everyone knows exactly who his father was working for. He’s got enemies on all sides now.”

Ron looked up from the nearby shelf he’d been looking at. Somehow, his already full arms seemed to contain even more merchandise than when they’d first slipped into their little corner. “So what? Bugger him.”

Harry simply shrugged. He didn’t completely believe that, but that was the same excuse Malfoy had provided. That he had enough to deal with, and he didn’t want to continue his rivalry with Harry. “But if that’s the case, why not just stay away? Why go out of his way to try and tell me he’s going to leave me alone?”

Hermione gave him an exasperated sigh. “If he didn’t tell you what he was doing, then you would spend all year wondering what he’s planning. You two haven’t stopped picking on each other for five years. It might be nice to go a single year without having to listen to you rant and rave about what Malfoy did to annoy you this time.”

Ron was nodding, on Hermione’s side, for once. Although, he seemed to have trouble moving his head much. His arms seemed to have almost reached critical mass, and were now sticking straight out in front of him, with boxes stacked all the way up to his chin. “I’m with Hermione, mate. It can get a little ridiculous how much you talk about him. Sometimes you just can’t seem to shut up.”

Suddenly their little corner became a lot more crowded, when Harry suddenly felt the presence of two very tall, very green, red-heads sidle up on either side of him.

“Let’s see here, people that Harry won’t shut up about?” Fred pretended to ponder as he looked over Harry’s head at his twin. “What’s your money on, George?”

“Well Fred, there are really only two options. You’ve got a certain pointy-faced Slytherin, or a certain snake-faced dark lord. Seeing as Ron isn’t pissing himself with jitters, I’m putting my money on blondie.”

Fred nodded. “That leaves snake-face for me. So, what’s the verdict? Who wins?”

Harry scowled at the twins. They were both wearing expensive-looking tailored suits that might have been the height of fashion, if they hadn’t been made in a garishly bright shade of lime green. “I talk about other things besides Malfoy and Voldemort.” Suddenly, a couple of second year Hufflepuffs dropped their shopping, and almost ran to the other side of the store.

George, standing to Harry’s right, gave him an unimpressed look. “Want to say that name a bit louder next time?”

Fred, on Harry’s left, agreed. “Yeah, maybe you’d be able to clear out the whole store.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Hermione was the only one who didn’t seem ruffled by Voldemort’s name. But then, she hadn’t been raised to fear it. “George wins. We were talking about Draco Malfoy.”

Harry wasn’t willing to let the matter drop just yet. “I talk about other things besides Malfoy all the time. I talk about…quidditch.”

Fred nudged him. “Quidditch…in which you play against Draco Malfoy.”

“I talk about classes.”

George’s turn. “Classes…which you share with Draco Malfoy.”

“I talk about girls.”

Fred looked disbelieving. “When do you talk about girls?”

Ron came to his aid. “He talked about Cho Chang quite a bit last year.”

George smirked. “Oh, is that right, little Harrykins? How did that go?”

Harry shuddered at the memory of his horrendous date in Madam Paddifoot’s and their fight over Marietta Edgecombe’s betrayal. “Not well.” He had no intention of elaborating on that to these two terrors, however.

George gave him a consoling pat on the back. “Well, maybe she wasn’t really your type? More importantly, Fred you owe me a galleon.”

“A galleon? We agreed a knut.”

“Could’ve sworn it was at least a sickle.”

Hermione interrupted their argument. “I don’t think you two agreed anything.”

George looked mockingly offended. “Who asked you? I distinctly remember twenty galleons being mentioned.”

Fred scowled at the three young Gryffindors. “This is your fault, you three. What were you doing talking about Malfoy, when we’re in the middle of a bloody war with You-Know-Who? That’s who you _should_ be talking about.”

Ron shrugged, almost upending his precarious pile and having to tilt to the side to adjust it back into place. “We talked about You-Know-Who all morning.”

Hermione ignored Ron’s obvious need for assistance. “We ran into Malfoy not fifteen minutes ago at Madam Malkin’s.”

The twins both looked down at Harry, concerned looks on their faces. “How did that go?” they asked in unison.

Hermione swooped in before Harry could get the chance to rant about the experience himself. “He offered Harry a truce. Apparently, he doesn’t want to fight anymore.”

Fred and George both laughed. “Oh, that doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”

“I completely agree, George. That seems really genuine. Nothing to be concerned about there.”

“Harry, you should probably start hanging around him all the time.”

“Definitely. Maybe you should start sitting with him at lunch, at the Slytherin table?”

“Yeah, and maybe he’ll take you to visit his dad in Azkaban.”

“Ooh, you could have a slumber party over at Malfoy Manor!”

“Watch out, Ron, I think Harry’s going to have a new best friend this year!” George warned while his younger brother rolled his eyes.

Fred picked up that train of thought with enthusiasm. “I can just envision you two, walking across the grounds on a moonlit night, hand in hand.”

George was really getting into the swing of things. “The kids would be adorable. Would they have black hair and grey eyes…”

“…or blonde hair and green eyes?”

“Ooh, I’m hoping the latter.”

“The perfect mix of dark and light.”

Instantly, their words sparked something in Harry, and he suddenly remembered something he’d been meaning to ask. “Dark and light! That reminds me. Have you guys ever heard the terms: Dark Family or Light Family?”

Hermione shrugged, for once not knowing what he was talking about. Ron looked surprised. “Talk about a change of topic.”

Fred looked at him skeptically. “Who was talking to you about Dark Families and Light Families?”

Harry shrugged. “It was just something Malfoy mentioned. I’d never heard anyone talk about it like that before.”

George nodded. “Makes sense.”

“No worries.” Fred agreed.

“That’s just a pureblood thing,” they explained in unison.

Harry was confused. “Aren’t the Weasleys purebloods?”

Ron, Fred, and George all made similar scrunched up faces at that, as if they weren’t quite sure how to answer. Fred rallied first. “Well, I mean, technically. We’re blood traitors but we are still an old wizard family.”

George continued. “We’re not some Ancient and Noble house, though. Those terms are more for the political purebloods.”

Harry took a wild guess. “The ones with a Lordship?”

Hermione tilted her head. “Are you curious about wizarding politics, Harry?”

He certainly hadn’t been before, but now he was starting to wonder if he ought to be. “I don’t think so, I’m just trying to understand. Malfoy said something about me being the Potter Heir; about me having a Lordship. I don’t really know what that means.”

“Well, milord, it means we are but your humble servants.” Suddenly, Fred and George were on their knees in front of him.

“That’s right, oh glorious, magnanimous Lord Potter! Your wish is our command.”

Harry was distinctly uncomfortable with this. “Would you two get up? You’re making a scene.”

Fred and George continued prostrating while Hermione began darting out questions. “He said you have a Lordship? Did you know about this Harry? Has anyone ever mentioned a Lordship before? If you’re Lord Potter, then why didn’t anyone tell you? But, on the other hand, why would Malfoy make that up? Are you sure he said you have a Lordship? What were you two talking about exactly?”

Harry felt completely lost. “I don’t even remember. We were talking about politics, and he figured out that I don’t know a bloody thing, which was hard to miss, and then he was surprised because he figured I should know about this stuff since I’m Heir Potter or whatever.”

Fred and George were now taking turns bowing down with their arms stretched out in front like he was some sort of tribal idol. “Supreme Leader Potter!”

“Ultimate Emperor Potter!”

“Imperial Majesty Potter!”

Hermione ignored them in favor of more serious concerns. “Now that you mention it, Harry, the Potter family is an old pureblood family. It would make sense that they have a Lordship.”

Even if that were true, that just left Harry with even more unanswered questions. “So, what is a wizarding Lordship, exactly? Does that mean I have a vote on the Wizengamot?” He looked down at the two red heads who were now trying to kiss his worn-out trainers. “If you two don’t knock it off, I’m going to kick you.”

George pushed Fred out of the way. “Oh, kick me, your venerable Highness, it would be an honor!”

Fred shoved George aside. “No, kick me, I insist. I can’t imagine a more glorious gift than the underside of your boot!”

Fred and George were rolling on the ground with laughter and Harry was actually considering ‘gifting’ them the bottom of his shoe, when Ginny walked up, looking very confused. “Did I miss something?”

Fred pointed his finger like a weapon. “How dare you so callously address his Royal Excellency Potter?”

“That’s right, mere mortal, bow down before the Almighty Sovereign, the Glorious Lord Potter!”

Ginny was busy petting a tiny, furry creature that looked almost like a puffskein, except it was even smaller and bright pink. She gave Harry a confused look. “Is this another Chosen One thing?”

“I wish.” Harry rolled his eyes as Fred and George started discussing whether Ginny ought to bow or curtsy. “Apparently this is a new stupid thing I have to deal with. Because, you know, I didn’t have enough on my plate.”

Suddenly, Ron let out a loud scoff. Harry turned, realizing just then that Ron had been surprising quiet for the past while. Ron looked strangely red in the face; more so than usual. “Yeah, Harry’s right, it’s just a stupid thing. It doesn’t matter. Who cares about Lordships anyway? The only people who would care about something ridiculous like that are pureblood prats like Malfoy.”

Ginny shoved past Fred, who was competing with George to see who was better at curtsying. She clutched her little pygmy puff closely, as neither twin was particularly graceful at the skill. “Wait, do you have a Lordship, Harry?”

He shrugged. “According to Draco Malfoy I do, but I don’t know why he would lie…about that.”

“Does that mean you can vote on the Wizengamot?”

Harry looked at Hermione, expecting her to know the answer, since she always had the answer. However, Hermione looked just as lost. “To be honest, Harry, what little research I’ve done on the Wizengamot was more about how to prepare a case to go before them. The only times I really looked into it were for your trial and Buckbeak’s hearing. I don’t really know how membership or voting works. It would be pretty impressive, though, if you could vote on the Wizengamot.”

Ron suddenly lost hold of his mound of merchandise. As he tried desperately to reach for the falling items, more and more seemed to slip through his grasp. “Shite! No! Come back here! Oh no, hey, don’t fall, don’t fall! No no no!” Box by box, it all seemed to slip from his grasp, as if in slow motion. “Dammit.”

Fred and George had stopped their revelry and were glaring at him. “You know you’re not leaving this store with any of that stuff unless you pay for it?”

Fred agreed. “Yeah, and if you broke anything, you’re paying for that, too.”

Ron scowled at them. “I’m your brother.”

George gave an unimpressed look. “Yeah, so we know where you live.”

“…and we’ll know where to find you if you nick anything.”

Ron was as red as a beat. “Like I wanted your stupid stuff anyway.”

Ginny was more interested in Harry. “So, when did you find all this out, Harry?”

Ron didn’t seem to want to hear the story again, however, because he suddenly shouted at the top of his voice. “Malfoy’s a ponce! He cornered Harry at the robe store! He said he wants to be friends all of a sudden! He’s a LYING GIT, and now he says Harry’s a Lord, but WHO CARES!?”

Harry and the twins turned around to see how much of a disturbance this had caused. Fortunately, the store was so loud and overrun, that only a few people seemed to have heard Ron’s outburst, and they just gave him a strange look, before returning to their shopping.

Harry could tell his friend was on edge and the last thing he wanted was to exacerbate the issue. “I’m with Ron.” The twins and the girls looked rather surprised by this, but Ron gave a relieved smile. “Malfoy’s a prat, he was probably just trying to stir up trouble by even mentioning it. I’ve got enough stupid responsibilities I have to deal with; the most important of which is trying to defeat a dark lord. The last thing I need to worry about is some stupid club for pureblood prats like the Malfoys. So, let’s just drop this subject, ok?”

Fred and George shrugged. “Ok, mate,” they said in unison. Hermione nodded.

Ginny had turned to look in another direction, however. She didn’t even seem to be paying attention. Harry tried to bring her back to the subject at hand. “Ginny?”

She still didn’t turn. She seemed to be looking out of the shop window. “Did Ron say Malfoy cornered you and he’s acting like a ponce? Do you think he’s up to something?”

Harry was confused. “Obviously. Why?”

Ginny pointed out the window. “Because I can see him out there. And he certainly looks like he’s up to something right now.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all ran to the window. Sure enough, there was Draco Malfoy with his hands in his pockets, glaring around suspiciously, as if trying to make sure he wasn’t being followed. “We should follow him.”

Hermione’s head fell in defeat. “Oh, Harry.”

***

Ten minutes later, the trio was hunched over and crowded together underneath the invisibility cloak, as they shuffled awkwardly down the crooked side streets of Knockturn Alley. Unlike Diagon Alley, which looked so different now from Harry’s first visit, Knockturn Alley looked just as unwelcome and creepy as the one other time Harry had stumbled this way.

When Malfoy entered Borgin and Burkes, Harry pulled his two friends to one of the front windows, where they crouched uncomfortably beneath the sill. They were still hidden beneath the cloak, but it was better to be out of the way, in case anyone might accidently walk into them and cause all kinds of commotion.

Hermione was the last to peak over the sill to look inside. “For the record, I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

Ron raised his hand to try and squint through the murky window. “Noted.”

Harry was busy trying to pull three extendable ears out of his pocket. “Malfoy’s up to something. There’s no way he’s not up to something. I want to find out what it is.” He slid the three ends under the bottom of the door, as stealthily as he could.

Ron turned to see what his friend was up to. “Where’d you get those extendable ears?”

“Fred and George gave them to me.”

“They gave you extendable ears, but they wouldn’t give me anything? I’m their brother!”

Hermione was still trying to peer through the glass, not bothering to look at Ron’s indignant expression. “In Harry’s defense, Ron, he did give your brothers the money to actually start that shop. You’re their brother, Harry’s their financier.”

Harry finally got the ears set up and could hear noise starting to come through. “Both of you hush, I want to hear this.” He turned again to look through the grime of the window, but that wasn’t very helpful since Malfoy and Mr. Borgin were both standing behind a large cabinet. Slowly, the voices started coming through.

“Ah yes, young master, that item is exactly what a young lord needs when setting up a new home. That’s perfect for getting back and forth from your manor to your summer home or to wherever you want to go.”

“It’s not a portkey, is it? It can’t be tracked by the ministry?”

“Oh no, young master, it merely allows you to apparate through any wards that might otherwise get in the way.”

“It will allow me to go through anti-apparition wards? Even particularly strong ones?”

“Any wards, young master, but with very specific limitations.”

“What exactly are the limitations?”

“It’s meant for purebloods who want to be able to apparate from one home to another. So, it will allow you to and from a location that has anti-apparition wards, but only if you are already keyed into the wards at both locations. You can’t go anywhere that you’re not already allowed. Also, the place you’re going to has to be somewhere that you already consider home, either your primary home or a secondary home. So, it won’t let you simply apparate into your neighbor’s house.”

“Anything else? Any other stipulations?”

“That’s it, young master.”

“Does it allow side-along apparition?”

“It does, but again, both people travelling have to be keyed into the wards. You can bring someone back to your home, but they have to already have been given permission to enter.”

“Understood, I’ll take it. Wrap up the other item too, the one we mentioned last time.”

“Yes, young master, absolutely.”

Harry turned to his friends. “Well if that’s not bloody suspicious, I don’t know what is.”

***

Later that evening, Harry sat in the backyard with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, as they watched Fleur Delacour pick a bouquet of ‘wildflowers’ for Mrs. Weasley, as some sort of peace offering. “Zees are such lovely flowers just growing randomly all over ze yard. What a waste to ‘ave zem scattered about. I’m sure your mozzer will love ‘aving zem in a bouquet, Bill!”

Bill and Mr. Weasley were busy talking about Order business and were barely paying attention, but Ginny was watching intently and sniggering to herself. “I’m sure mum will have quite the reaction when she finds out Phlegm pulled out all the flowers that she spent hours planting in the yard.”

Harry looked up from the broom he was polishing. The four of them had spent the late afternoon playing two-a-side quidditch. Since Hermione was so abysmal, he had let her use his Firebolt, which was the smoothest ride with the best maneuverability. This did level the playing field slightly, but it always seemed to leave his broomstick feeling slightly stiff and uncooperative, as if it were annoyed at Harry for letting such an untalented flyer borrow it. So, Harry was giving it a long, gentle polish to try and apologize. “Maybe you ought to warn her that she’s destroying your mother’s garden?”

They watched as Fleur cut the stems off several Bluebells. Ginny just shrugged. “Oh, I’m sure she’ll figure it out eventually. So, did you guys ever figure out what Malfoy was up to?”

Ron finally managed to pull his attention from the part-veela when he heard the name Malfoy. “We’re sure that prat’s definitely up to something, we’re just not sure what. Maybe, since You-Know-Who abandoned the Malfoy family, he’s looking for a new dark lord to serve. Maybe he’s hoping to turn Harry over to some other evil dark wizard, or maybe the vampires or something.” Ron’s theories had become increasingly far-fetched throughout the day.

Harry pulled out his finishing polish to apply a final coat. “I mean, that’s…an idea.” He set the jar of polish aside in the grass and set to work. “But why would some other dark lord want me? Voldemort wants me because of the prophecy and all that; I don’t think some other dark lord would care.”

Ginny looked even more skeptical. “I don’t think any vampires would care either.”

Ron glared at his sister. “You never know.” They heard Fleur gasp as she found the primroses and started adding those to her armload of blooms.

Harry was starting to feel bad about all of Mrs. Weasley’s hard work. He had firsthand experience planting seeds in Aunt Petunia’s garden, and he would have been pretty disheartened if someone had come along and snipped all the stems off his flowers. “Are you sure we shouldn’t tell her to stop?”

Ginny shook her head fervently. “Don’t worry, mum has some spells that can put the flowers to right. I just have to see the look on her face when her future daughter-in-law tells her that her garden looks like a random smattering of wildflowers.”

Harry shuddered. “Girls fight dirty.”

“Anyway,” Ron seemed to shake himself from whatever trance he had been in when Fleur started smelling the roses. “Malfoy’s devious, but he’s not original enough to come up with some clever idea on his own. Someone could have sent him to do their dirty work.”

Harry nodded and thought about who might have sent Malfoy after him. “Maybe Snape sent him. I didn’t get the required O, so I won’t be able to take Potions with him this year. Maybe Snape’s trying to find a new way to torment me since he can’t torture me in class.”

A loud sigh came from the bench behind him, where Hermione was sitting. Harry turned from his place in the grass to see her curled up below the kitchen window, using the light to read her new book on Wizengamot protocol. Even as the other Gryffindors turned to look at her, she didn’t look up from her text. However, her expression clearly showed that she was exasperated.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Did you have something to add?”

She glanced up with an air of innocent confusion. “No, nothing,” she insisted. However, before Harry or Ron could get going on this new Snape theory, Hermione’s persistent voice cut them off. “I was just hoping that this year, finally, you might lay off your rivalry with Draco Malfoy, but it seems you’re determined to obsess over whether he might possibly have an ulterior motive.”

Harry was tired of listening to her say the same thing over and over. “ _Possibly_ have an ulterior motive?”

She continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “And now you’re dragging poor Professor Snape into your conspiracy theories…”

Harry almost dropped his broom at those words, but Ron came to his aid. “ _Poor_ Professor Snape?”

Hermione would not be deterred. “It just seems silly to me to spend so much time worrying about something that might not even be a problem. I mean, Malfoy certainly _could_ be up to something, but we have no way of knowing what, and it’s just as likely that he’s not up to anything.”

Even Ginny seemed to find that doubtful. “Just as likely!?”

“What on Earth is going on here?” Mrs. Weasley must have finished the washing up from dinner. Her hazel eyes were darting between Fleur, her cut up garden, her husband and Bill, and finally the four teens sitting by the bench below the kitchen window. “What happened to my flowers?”

Fleur flounced forward, with an ethereal smile on her lips, and presented the admittedly lovely bouquet which represented the destruction of all Mrs. Weasley’s hard work. Harry had to admit, there was something breathtaking about the other-worldly young woman standing with the grace of some kind of celestial being and holding out the bundle of fresh flowers. “I found all zees random wildflowers just lying throughout ‘ze yard. It was such a waste of zeir potential beauty. I decided to gazzer zem into a pretty bouquet for you.”

Mrs. Weasley was gaping. Mr. Weasley and Bill both put their heads in the hands. Hermione covered her mouth. Ron seemed somehow hypnotized. Ginny was the only one moving, as she rolled onto her back in the grass behind Harry, so the others couldn’t see her shaking shoulders as she tried to stifle her laughter.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley seemed to come out of her shock. “My garden! What have you done to my garden?”

Fleur looked around at the yard, confused. “I don’t think zis could really be called a garden.”

Ginny let out a gasp, as she started laughing even harder. Harry elbowed her to try and get her to calm down. He couldn’t help but find her amusement infectious, but he didn’t want Mrs. Weasley to notice them laughing and turn her ire on them. Of course, the Weasley matriarch seemed very distracted at the moment. “Of course it’s a garden! Maybe it’s not some fancy courtyard with fountains and plots and fenced off flowerbeds, but it’s a proper English garden.”

Fleur just smiled back. “Oh, of course. Zat was why I was confused. It’s an English Garden. You see, in France, we plant gardens with order and beauty in mind.”

Mrs. Weasley went bright red, and Harry had to try and hold Ginny down since she was shaking so much, she looked like she was having a fit.

Mrs. Weasley still only had eyes for the blonde young woman before her. “It’s supposed to look natural!”

Fleur nodded. “Well, it certainly looked…natural.”

Before Mrs. Weasley could completely erupt, Bill and Mr. Weasley finally rushed forward to intercede. Mr. Weasley grabbed his hysterical wife and tried to calm her, while Bill took Fleur’s hand and tried to usher her inside, away from his mother. “Come on dear, let’s go put your bouquet in your room. We’ll leave mum alone for a bit, so she can put her flowers back in order.”

Fleur stormed across the yard with Bill, muttering “Zat woman is determined to ‘ate me no matter ‘ow ‘ard I try!” Ginny suddenly sat up as they passed by and tried to catch her breath. Her hair was now quite disheveled, and her cheeks were bright red.

Bill gave his younger sister an unimpressed look. “You know, you could have warned Fleur she was cutting up mum’s flowers.”

Ginny smiled and nodded. “We could’ve.”

Bill scowled at her. “You’re worse than the twins.”

Harry was becoming increasingly embarrassed. “Sorry Bill, sorry Fleur. We didn’t think it’d be quite so explosive.”

However, Fleur just waved a hand at that. “It is not your fault, ‘Arry. You cannot control zat woman’s temper, but thank you for being so sweet. ‘Ere you go, ‘Arry” She handed him a pale pink lily. “A pretty pink flower to match your cute little pink cheeks.” She gave said cheek a quick pinch before turning and bounding into the house, with Bill at her heels.

Ginny glared at Fleur’s back, and as soon as the part-Veela was out of sight, she turned her glare on Harry instead.

“What?” he asked.

“Enjoy your stupid flower, I’m going to bed.” Ginny straightened up before following her brother though the back door.

Harry stared after her, completely confused. “Girls are weird.” Ron nodded in complete agreement, and Hermione seemed determined to stare a hole in her book.

Of course, now that it was just the three of them, Harry wanted to take advantage of one of their few moments of privacy. “So anyway, the dangerous item Malfoy bought from Borgin and Burkes…what do you guys think he’s up to with that?”

Hermione let out another sigh, but instead of turning her focus on Harry, she looked up to watch Mrs. Weasley storm over to the shed, trying to find a book of gardening spells. “Harry, how many times do we have to go over this? He was probably buying it for its intended purpose; so he can apparate as he pleases from one house to another.” Harry turned to Ron, but the traitor just nodded along with what Hermione was saying.

Harry was frustrated that they still couldn’t see his side. This was one of the few things that Hermione and Ron both seemed to agree on. While Ron thought Malfoy’s overall behavior was suspicious, he agreed that the mysterious Borgin and Burke item couldn’t be used for anything nefarious, at least in and of itself. Hermione continued trying to make Harry see their point of view. “His father is probably still Lord of Malfoy Manor, even though he’s in prison, so Malfoy probably can’t change the wards. If he wants to apparate back and forth from one of his houses to the other, he’ll have to use that item.”

Harry glared. “Even if he _can_ apparate, which he really shouldn’t even be able to yet, since he’s underage, but even if he could, why was he asking all those suspicious questions?”

Hermione and Ron shared a look as if to say ‘here we go again.’ Hermione took the bait, however. “What suspicious questions, Harry?”

“Like whether or not he could side-along apparate someone else.”

Hermione sighed, again. “That’s not an unreasonable question, Harry.”

He let out an annoyed huff. “That git was asking if it could be tracked by the Ministry!”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “Would you want to be tracked by the Ministry?”

“It was just bloody suspicious, ok!”

“What are you lot still doing out of bed?” Mrs. Weasley finally seemed to remember their presence when Harry raised his voice. While she wasn’t mad at them, specifically, she was clearly not in the mood for any nonsense. “Get to your rooms, all of you. I want lights out in ten minutes.”

Harry and Ron quickly gathered their things and made for the door, but Hermione seemed to be holding back. Harry glanced over his shoulder when she didn’t follow them to the door. “Are you coming, Hermione?”

She gave a stiff nod. “In a bit. I think I’ll help Mrs. Weasley go through her books and try to find the spell she needs.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Oh, of course. Any chance to look through a book. Suit yourself.”

Harry was ready for this bizarre day to end, but when the two boys reached the second story landing, a freckled face peeked her head out of the door. “Harry, before you go to bed, can I speak with you a minute?” Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to speak to Ginny alone, but he didn’t want to be rude. Ron just rolled his eyes and offered to take Harry’s firebolt up to the room, but he still left Harry alone to the mercy of his sister.

When Harry was tugged into the youngest Weasley’s bedroom, he felt distinctly awkward. For as long as Harry had known Ginny, he had never actually been inside her room. At least it wasn’t an affront to one’s senses, like Ron’s bright orange collage of everything Chudley Cannons. Her room was much more sensible, certainly cleaner, but not as feminine as he may have suspected. There were still several Quidditch posters, but the team featured was the Hollyhead Harpies, which Harry knew was the only all-female team in the league. Her new pink Pygmy Puff, which she had named Arnold, was lying on her pillow, apparently asleep.

Once the door was shut, he turned back to her. He wasn’t sure what she wanted, and he was just standing there awkwardly in the middle of the room. Not to mention, he wasn’t sure if she was still annoyed with him about whatever had happened earlier. “Er…sorry about the flower.” He held up the pink lily for her. “Here, you can have it.”

Ginny shrugged. “Oh, I don’t really care about that,” she said, but she took the flower none the less, and set it in a small glass of water. “Don’t worry Harry, I didn’t ask you here to chastise you. I actually wanted to talk to you about your Lordship thing.”

Ginny walked past Harry and sat back casually on her pale blue bed. She motioned for him to sit beside her, which he did with great reluctance. Harry tried adjusting so he was touching as little of the bed as possible. He felt very out of his element. He had never been on a girl’s bed before, and he wasn’t sure he wanted his first time to be while discussing such an uncomfortable topic. “Look Ginny, I don’t even want to think about that.”

Ginny just smirked at him. “Exactly, that’s what I wanted to talk about.” She leaned over and grabbed her little pink puffball and set him on her lap. “Look, I know Ron was going off about how stupid the Wizengamot was, and how it’s just for prats like Malfoy, but that’s just because he’s jealous. And I know Fred and George were teasing you, but that’s just the twins being the twins; they can’t help being ridiculous. You don’t need to be all embarrassed about being an Heir. Bill’s an Heir too, you know?”

Harry’s head shot up at the mention of her eldest brother. “The Weasley Heir? But the others said that the Weasleys didn’t have a Lordship or a seat on the Wizengamot or anything like that?”

As soon as he said it, he immediately regretted it. He realized it was pretty rude of him to point out that her family wasn’t as prestigious as others, but Ginny just flashed a big smile and winked at him. In a lot of ways, she was more like the twins than she was like Ron. “Oh, we don’t, but the Prewitts do…my mum’s side of the family. Has Ron ever told you about Mum’s Great Aunt Muriel? She’s a piece of work, but she’s Lady Prewitt. I think she even has a seat on the Wizengamot, but I don’t think she votes all that often. Anyway, Bill’s her favorite, and she named him her heir, so one day he’ll be Lord Prewitt. You two might even end up working together, if you both get involved in that stuff.”

This instantly cheered Harry up. Bill had an Heirship, too? Bill was a cool guy, not at all like Draco bloody Malfoy. “Bill’s going to be on the Wizengamot? Really?” Then he got a wicked gleam in his eye and added, “Does that mean Fleur will be Lady Prewitt?”

“Ugh, don’t get me started on Phlegm.” Ginny shuddered. “But yeah, Bill’s a Lord and he’s great.” She had a proud grin on her face. Bill was obviously her favorite brother. “And I’d bet anything Neville’s going to have a seat, too. The Longbottoms are another one of those ancient and noble houses, and I know he’s the Heir.” Harry nodded, if Neville and Bill were also Heirs, then clearly it wasn’t such a weird, outlandish thing. He still wondered why no one had ever mentioned it to him before. Whose job was it to tell him about this stuff, anyway? Ginny gave him a fond smile. “Plus, you know who the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot is, right?”

Harry paused. That’s right! He had read about that in the paper just this summer. Dumbledore had been ousted as Chief Warlock by Minister Fudge a year ago, but when the public finally came to terms with the fact that Voldemort was back, Dumbledore had been returned to his rightful place. “Dumbledore.”

Ginny nodded. She seemed pretty excited by all this. “Exactly, if Dumbledore’s in charge, then you know it can’t be all bad. Plus, I think there are some other Order members who have seats, as well. I’m not entirely sure, but most of the old Pureblood families of esteem get to vote, I think.”

Harry was significantly more relaxed now. So, this Lordship thing wasn’t that big of a deal. “Hermione’s doing research on the whole thing now, obviously. I’m sure she’ll know more than the actual members by the end of the summer. I’ll have to ask her if that book of hers lists who the actual members are. Maybe I should ask Dumbledore about this next time I see him.”

Ginny looked excited by the prospect. “You should. You two are kind of close right?”

Harry shrugged. “I guess so. We’re definitely closer than we were last year. Don’t tell anyone, but he mentioned something about giving me private lessons this year.”

Ginny’s eyes went wide. “No! Seriously? That’s brilliant. What kind of lessons?”

“No idea. He said to keep it private, but he did say I could tell my friends, so I guess it’s ok that you know. Just, you know, don’t tell anyone, right?”

Ginny nodded enthusiastically. “Right, of course not. You can trust me. I won’t even tell Dean.”

“Dean?”

Ginny smirked. “Dean Thomas. You know he and I are dating, right?”

Harry actually blushed. “Oh yeah, right. I guess I may have forgotten. Sorry.”

Just then, the door opened and Hermione walked in. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you two were chatting in here. I can go if you want some privacy.”

Ginny waved her off. “No, I think we’re done here. I was just telling Harry not to let Ron and the Twins get under his skin. There’s nothing inherently embarrassing about being a Lord or an Heir or whatever.”

Hermione bristled as she strode in and set down her thick tome. “Of course not. In fact, you could make a lot of positive change with a position like that, Harry.”

Harry just shrugged at that. After Hermione confirmed that Mrs. Weasley did, in fact, find a spell to restore her poor flowers, Harry wished the girls “good night,” and made his way back to Ron’s room at the top of the stairs. Maybe this Wizengamot thing could be a good thing. He was going to reserve judgement for now. In the meantime, he had asked the two girls not to mention his Lordship to anyone, and definitely never bring the subject up around Ron. Harry still wanted some more information about whether or not this was even real. He certainly wasn’t going to take Malfoy’s word for it.

***

Remus Lupin flicked his wand, and another shelf full of books shrunk themselves down and neatly made their way into his open trunk. Meanwhile, Nymphadora was helping to fold his clothes and tuck them into his small suitcase. He had given her the easy job; he hardly had much of a selection of clothes. He’d never had much money for a wardrobe, and what little he had, he preferred to spend on something to read. This was probably a good thing, since her idea of ‘folding’ seemed to be rather…creative.

Remus was content to work in silence, but of course, Dora wasn’t having it. “This is so unfair,” she voiced for just about the third time since they had started packing. At the moment, she was folding socks by sticking one holey sock entirely inside another. “There ought to be a law that prevents them from just tossing you out.”

“I doubt that would ever pass. Wizards don’t exactly want to rent out flats to werewolves. It’s alright, though, I’ve already got another place lined up.”

Dora scowled. “Yes, but how long before _they_ throw you out on your ass?” She grabbed a scarf and tied it into a knot (for some reason) before shoving it into the suitcase.

Remus sighed with the patience of a man who had been dealing with this kind of prejudice for years. “Probably as long as it takes them to figure out that I’m always sick during the full moon. See, this is why I had been living amongst muggles.” He flicked his wand at the next shelf of books, and neatly packed those away, as well. “Of course, this time was an anomaly. It usually takes at least nine months to a year for my landlords to figure it out. Mrs. Orwell got it in just three full moons. I guess she’s a bit too nosey for her own good. This time I picked a landlady who’s not nearly as friendly.”

Dora scoffed and rolled up an old shirt into some sort of ball before tossing it into the case. “Friendly? She figured out you had a condition and she threw you out without warning. She basically told you that you had till the end of the day or else.”

Remus simply shrugged as he packed up the last shelf of books with careful precision. He understood her frustration, but after so many years, it was hard to muster the energy to feel truly angry about it. “It’s nothing I’m not used to,” was all he said.

Dora slammed the suitcase shut. “You shouldn’t have to put up with this.”

Remus gave her an understanding smile. “I don’t really have any alternative.”

Dora blushed. She suddenly looked a little nervous, which was not an expression he was used to seeing on her face. “You _do_ have options. You don’t have to just go from place to place, trying to hide your condition from your landlord.”

Remus looked at her skeptically. He wasn’t sure where she was going with this. “What other option do I have?”

Dora was fidgeting, which again, was very unlike her. She always seemed to move with unnerving confidence, despite her poor balance and coordination. “You could live with me. I have my own place, you know. So, you wouldn’t have to deal with any landlords or anything. We could…live together.”

Remus paled instantly. Suddenly much more nervous than the young woman across from him. “Dora, you know that’s not an option.”

She glared defiantly. “Why not?”

“It’s dangerous! I’m dangerous! This…what’s been going on here… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been encouraging this. I’ve just been enjoying my time with you so much, but we shouldn’t be getting attached to each other. This would never work. This was never going to work.”

Dora’s hair changed from pink to a violent shade of red. “Why not?”

“You know why not. My condition, Dora. I’m not safe to be around. Not only that, but I have to deal with this.” He waved his hand around the derelict apartment in a vague gesture. “All this prejudice and nonsense. If you were with me, you’d never be able to live your life to its fullest.”

Her hair turned a dark purple. “I don’t care about that. I like you, Remus. These last few months have been some of the best of my life. I want to try and make this work. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s impossible, but can’t we at least try?”

Remus looked so defeated. “We can’t. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I should have just kept my distance.”

Dora’s hair faded to a pale blue. “Why are you so scared? What do you have to lose? You can’t honestly tell me that you don’t have feelings for me.”

Remus looked up at her with grim determination. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I don’t have feelings for you. I’m sorry. You should just move on. Find someone who cares about you in a way I never could. Please, go find happiness with someone who can actually make you happy. It can’t be me. I don’t love you.”

She paused as she looked at him. She didn’t shed a single tear, but he hair dulled to its natural mousy brown. “You are such a liar,” she said before apparating away, leaving Remus all alone.

***

Severus stood before his dark master as fire crackled in the hearth and the silence stretched out. The Dark Lord was seated comfortably in his high, wing-backed throne in his personal study, but Severus did not sit. The Dark Lord did not have a seat in front of his desk. Those who came to speak with him in his office were expected to stand or kneel. Severus waited for the Dark Lord to speak first. “Severus, did you do as instructed?”

“Yes, my Lord. I spoke to Albus Dumbledore just yesterday. I asked about the Black Heir, as well as the state of the Order’s Headquarters, but the man was annoyingly vague. He refused to say who Sirius Black had named as his Heir. He only said that the situation had been dealt with, and the Heir had already given their permission for the Order to continue using the Black ancestral home as their headquarters.”

The Dark Lord scowled, and his magic flared violently, causing the books that filled the shelves around them to shake subtly. “I need access to that house, Severus. I need to know who owns it.”

Severus braced himself. The Dark Lord never did like receiving bad news. “My Lord, I’m afraid that even if we were able to determine whom Black had named as his Heir, you would not be able to coerce them into granting you access to the house. Ever since the Order started using it as their headquarters, it has been under the Fidelius Charm, and Albus Dumbledore is the Secret Keeper. The only person who can tell you the house’s location, or allow you to enter, is the headmaster himself.”

The books shook even more violently. The fire in the hearth flared. The Dark Lord reached out and began to stroke a heavy, golden chalice that sat on the corner on his desk. Severus tried to inspect it without being too obvious. It was a beautiful cup, with some sort of inlaid detailing below the Dark Lord’s thin, pale fingers. Severus couldn’t recall ever seeing it before; he felt he would remember such a unique and beautiful antique. As the other man slowly caressed the empty goblet, his temper seemed to quell. His turbulent emotions reigned in, if only just a little.

“Something was stolen from me, Severus. Something precious.”

Severus’s brows rose in surprise, not only surprise that something could be stolen from the Dark Lord, but also that the other would be willing to admit it. “Stolen, my Lord?”

“Stolen by Regulus Black.”

“Regulus, my Lord? Forgive me, I thought Regulus Black had been dead for some time…”

“Oh, he has.” This time, even the torchlight seemed to flicker, as the Dark Lord gave a truly evil smile. “He died quite violently and terribly. How I wish I could have seen it myself. The traitor deserved even worse for his betrayal.”

Severus thought over the Dark Lord’s sudden interest in the Black ancestral home. “You believe Regulus may have hidden this stolen item in the Black home?”

The Dark Lord’s red eyes, which had been gazing off toward some unknown horror, swiveled back to meet Severus’s own, pitch black orbs. “That is the most likely location, yes.”

Severus nodded. “If you would permit me, my Lord. I could try to locate this item for you. You could merely give me a brief description.”

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes in obvious distrust. “I will not stoop to that unless absolutely necessary.” The man then seemed to consider his options, and he must have come to the obvious conclusion that he didn’t have many. “However, I need to know if Albus Dumbledore has already discovered this item. Has he mentioned finding any dark artefacts in the house?”

“Dark artefacts?” Severus actually had to stop himself from smirking at the ridiculous question. “That house is so full of dark artefacts, it is difficult to move without tripping over one.” The Dark Lord’s eyes flashed with annoyance. Knowing how much the man liked to think of himself as superior to everyone and everything, it probably irked him that his lost artefact might be mixed in with other, more ordinary objects. “I believe the Weasley brood spent an entire summer trying to clean out as many dark artefacts as they could. I do not believe they made much progress.”

This time the Dark Lord clenched onto the goblet as if it were a lifeline. “What do you mean they _cleaned out_ the dark artefacts? What happened to the artefacts they found?”

Severus tried to remain stoic in the face of the Dark Lord’s oppressive wrath. “I’m afraid I don’t know, my Lord. I wasn’t involved with the ‘clean up duties.’ However, I regret to say that many dark items were simply vanished away in their onslaught.”

Severus had been sure that this would cause another eruption of malicious magic, however the Dark Lord actually seemed to calm at these words. “Vanish the items?” He laughed at the idea, although it was more of a cruel cackle than anything mirthful. “Vanish them? This object is not something that could merely be vanished. It would take significantly more than that to dispose of this item.”

Severus considered those words. “My Lord, I do not wish to pry, but may I ask if this item was something of great value? Would it be something that was obviously worth money?”

The Dark Lord glared at Severus’s impudence. “Of course it was of great value. I told you it was precious. Its value is beyond mere money; beyond priceless.”

Severus nodded at that. “My Lord, if I may speculate…I remember many Order members complaining that many items of value were being pilfered from the Black home.”

The books began to shake again, even with the Dark Lord grasping the cup firmly with his spidery hand. “Pilfered?”

“Yes, my Lord. One Order member, Mundungus Fletcher, is little more than a common thief. It is an open secret that he has been secreting away several items of value from the home for the better part of a year. I know Black threw him out of the house on more than one occasion, after catching that pathetic excuse for a wizard squirrelling things away. I don’t doubt that since Black’s death, he has returned to his old habits in earnest. If the object that you are searching for was, in fact, in the Black home, and it was obviously of great value, there is a high chance that it ended up in the unfortunate possession of Mundungus Fletcher.”

Severus knew he was basically signing the man’s death warrant, but if the Dark Lord truly was desperate to find his stolen item, which he obviously was, it was better to give him all the possible information on how to retrieve it. Besides, Mundungus truly was a pathetic individual. If he really was stupid enough to try stealing ancient and dark family heirlooms, he deserved whatever comeuppance came from that.

 The Dark Lord looked contemplative. “Mundungus Fletcher…”

Severus gave a curt nod. “Yes, my Lord. Would you like me to approach him?”

The Dark Lord once again narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I will deal with that myself. You will not concern yourself with that man for now.”

Severus kept his expression neutral and gave no reaction at all to the Dark Lord’s obvious distrust. He certainly wasn’t insulted by it. The dark wizard didn’t trust anyone. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Before you leave, I have another task for you, Severus.” The potion’s master gave another curt nod. “What do you know about Harry Potter’s childhood?”

Severus’s impassive expression actually cracked for a moment, and his surprise showed briefly before he was able to school his features once again. “Harry Potter, my Lord?” The Dark Lord’s impatience was obvious, so we quickly went on to answer the question. “He was raised by his muggle relatives, as you know.” Still, the Dark Lord said nothing, waiting for Severus to elaborate. “I can only make an educated guess based on who the boy grew to be. I know the boy is selfish, impertinent, and arrogant, which can only lead me to assume he was just as pampered and spoiled as his obnoxious father.”

The Dark Lord nodded, as if this was what he expected. “Yes, I’m sure the Light was quite eager to dote upon their precious Boy-Who-Lived. However, I believe you are more knowledgeable than you might believe. You knew the boy’s mother, yes? She and her family lived in Spinner’s End with you, yes? What do you know of the boy’s muggle relatives?”

Severus forced away any emotions associated with ‘the boy’s mother.’ He kept his face, and his mind, as clear as possible. “I only met the boy’s aunt, and that was years ago. I never met her husband, or any children. She was a pathetic and sniveling woman, not dissimilar to other muggles. As I recall, she was rather envious of her sister’s magic, as would be expected.”

The Dark Lord nodded. “You are probably wondering why I would ask you these questions.” Severus merely bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Young Draco came to see me yesterday. It seems he had a run in with his new target a little earlier than expected.”

Severus quirked a brow in curiosity. So, Draco ran into Potter? He couldn’t imagine that would have gone well. However, he waited for the Dark Lord to continue at his own time. “It seems Potter is still distrustful of young Draco. However, that is only to be expected.” Severus nodded. “What was unexpected, on the other hand, was that Harry Potter seemed to be much less informed about his past and his role in wizarding society than one would expect of ‘the Chosen One.’ It seems his family, and probably Dumbledore, have been keeping secrets.”

Severus couldn’t help it; his curiosity was too much. “Secrets, my Lord? What has been kept from the boy?”

The Dark Lord smirked at having caught Severus’s interest so completely. “That is what I wish for you to determine. Young Draco mentioned some things, but there is no way for me to know whether or not Harry Potter was merely lying.”

Severus nodded. “The boy is an almost pathological liar. I wouldn’t believe a word that comes from his mouth; least of all something he said to Draco Malfoy.”

“Indeed. I wish for you to do some further research and determine if anything was kept from the boy, anything that he ought to have been told that he may not be aware of. If we can prove that his caregivers have been keeping secrets from him, either in his early childhood, or since he was enrolled at Hogwarts, we may be able to crack his blind trust in them.”

Severus nodded. “Your wish is my command, my Lord.”

***

_This time, Harry didn’t even flinch when he woke up in the eerie, wood-paneled study, with the flickering fireplace, and the walls lined with shelves of dusty tomes. He’d been dreaming about this place almost once a week for a couple months now. He was practically used to it. He probably would have been perfectly comfortable in the now familiar setting, if it weren’t for the unsettling company._

_Once again, Voldemort sat in his throne-like seat behind his large, oak desk. Harry tried to ignore the other man for as long as possible, instead walking along the shelves and glancing at the volumes. He couldn’t make out any of the titles, they were somehow fuzzy and distorted in the world of the dream, or whatever this was. It just gave him more verification that he was dreaming and not having a vision; everything had always been quite clear in his visions._

_Harry tried not to look at the dark wizard sitting regally on the other side of the room, but it was almost impossible for his attention not to get drawn that way. Trying not to look at Voldemort was like trying not to look at a train collision. The man just seemed to draw your eye in some inevitable way, no matter how horrific the sight was._

_As Harry, once again, glanced in that direction, he saw that Voldemort was smirking at him. The expression immediately had him on edge. He told himself not to let it bother him. He told himself to just keep his mouth shut and soon the dream would be over, but he had never been particularly good at listening to his own common sense. “What are you smirking about?”_

_The thin lips immediately stretched into an even wider grin, and Harry realized that Voldemort was trying to unsettle him, and was now feeling quite victorious that it had worked. “Are you interested in my book collection, Harry?” He hissed the name with an almost vindictive relish._

_Harry forced himself not to shudder, but only with tremendous self-control. He merely glared, so Voldemort simply continued. “I suppose you will soon have access to a much wider selection, if not significantly more mundane. Are you looking forward to returning to Hogwarts, or are you lamenting the end of your little vacation?”_

_Harry shrugged; he loved Hogwarts, it wasn’t much of a secret. “I always look forward to returning to Hogwarts.”_

_Voldemort actually looked intrigued by that. “Really? I recall many of my classmates always complained that the summer holidays were too short, and they hated having to return to class. You do not strike me as the type to miss studying.”_

_Harry ran his fingers along the spines of the books. They felt real, even if their titles were obscured. “It’s not the studying I miss. I’m not much of a bookworm. It’s the school I miss.”_

_Voldemort gave him an assessing look. He still hadn’t moved from his seat. “Is that so? I, too, used to find solace in the ancient castle. Do you find it interesting that you and I would share that in common?”_

_Harry shrugged as he continued to walk along the shelves, actually feeling the dust on the old spines. “I already knew we had that in common. I don’t know why you’re bringing it up. Weren’t you the one who originally pointed it out?” When Voldemort furrowed his brow in confusion, Harry realized his mistake. “Oh, no, I guess that was the diary. I suppose you wouldn’t really remember anything he said to me.”_

_The expression on Voldemort’s face looked surprised for only a moment, before it passed through curiosity, quickly over to fascination, and then all the way to hungry enthrall. “You spoke to the diary? When did you speak with my diary?”_

_It was Harry’s turn to look confused. “My second year. Wait, I thought you knew about that? Did no one tell you about the whole Chamber of Secrets thing?”_

_Voldemort was giving Harry his full attention, and it was rather unsettling. “I was told that you destroyed my diary, when it was being used to open the Chamber of Secrets. However, I was under the impression that the diary was in the possession of Weasley’s youngest daughter, and that she was the only one who communicated with it.”_

_Harry stopped running his fingers along the books when the shelves took him closer to the oak desk where Voldemort was still coiled as if readying to strike. Behind his wireframed glasses, Harry’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. He really didn’t like the idea of Voldemort talking about Ginny. “She had the diary most of the year. I only had it for a little while. We talked a bit, before I knew who he really was. And then, down in the Chamber, Tom wanted to have a nice, long chat about you and me. He said we were alike, but that didn’t stop him from sending that stupid basilisk after me.”_

_Those serpentine red eyes flashed in interest. “My diary told you that we were alike? Why would it say that?”_

_Harry shrugged. He really didn’t want to talk about this with Voldemort, even if he was sure that this wasn’t the real Voldemort. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter, though. We might have a few superficial things that are similar, but we’re different in all the ways that matter. Besides, it’s our choices that make us who we truly are, and every choice that I’ve made has shown me that I am nothing like you.”_

_Harry was sure Voldemort would be annoyed at these words, but the man just watched him like a cat watches a mouse. The Gryffindor refused to squirm under the scrutiny. Voldemort tilted his head as if he were deep in thought. “Why would my diary think you were like me?”_


	4. In Enemy Territory

It didn’t take Severus Snape long to track down the man he was looking for. Alastor had mentioned that Remus Lupin would be arriving at a popular half-breed and dark creature pub in Knockturn Alley that Saturday to meet with a possible werewolf ally. Severus knew werewolves were notorious for being disorganized, graceless, and generally unkept, which made him strongly suspect Lupin’s associate would be inconsiderately late.

Lupin, by contrast, was always fastidiously prompt. Therefore, if Severus were to arrive shortly before their arranged meeting time, the potion’s master suspected he would have at least a half hour of uninterrupted time to question the last Marauder about what he knew of Potter’s childhood.

A thick fog was rolling into the twilight evening, as Severus made his way down the poorly lit back streets of Knockturn Alley. The lack of any proper illumination, and the perilously uneven cobbles might have made anyone else stumble or faulter, but Severus swept forward with an unconcerned expression, which no one was there to appreciate. His long, black cloak billowed in the nonexistent wind, as he rounded the tight corners at an impatient pace.

Finally, Severus arrived at The Last Call, and threw the doors open in the same derisive gesture he used to impress (and intimidate) his students. The patrons, who sat quietly sipping their various concoctions, looked up to see a black hooded figure, trailing mist and shrouded in darkness. He swooped imperiously into the establishment giving off every indication that he was not someone to be trifled with. They all quickly looked back down at their drinks and each made the individual decision that they would mind their own damn business.

Despite the location being rather far from the beaten path, The Last Call was quite crowded with hags, ogres, half-elves, and several other suspicious-looking characters. Severus looked past the seedy clientele and his eyes fell almost immediately upon Remus Lupin, sitting alone in a quiet corner of the pub. The ex-professor was easy to spot with his prim and polite posture, looking so very out of place in a forsaken location such as this. While the other dark creatures and half breeds all looked pointedly away as Severus passed, Lupin openly gaped when he caught sight of the cloaked figure. “Goodness gracious, Severus! What are you doing here?”

The potion’s master merely lowered his hood and quirked his brow as he sat down opposite the werewolf. Severus looked around at the filthy surroundings in obvious distaste. If anything, this place was grimier than the Hog’s Head. Not that Severus was particularly sickened by dust or grime. He wasn’t Lucius Malfoy, after all. However, he wasn’t sure if he felt comfortable drinking anything prepared by the humpbacked bartender who was shuffling about.

Lupin, however, was not about to let Severus’s sudden appearance simply go unaddressed. “You really shouldn’t be here, Severus. This place is for half-breeds and dark creatures and such. They don’t really like regular wizards hanging out here. Besides, I’m supposed to meet someone. He should be here any minute.”

Severus simply gave Lupin a bored expression. “Let’s see, your meeting time was eleven o’clock, correct?” He flicked his wand and cast a wordless Tempus charm. The time appeared before them as 10:57. Severus gave a derisive smirk. “If that werewolf shows up in the next twenty minutes, I’ll give you three galleons.”

Lupin merely gave him a highly unimpressed look. “If Mr. Sykes shows up while you’re still here, you’re going to have to get up and leave. You can keep your money.” Lupin looked around for a moment, as if expecting the man to show up immediately. Several hags and vampires were giving them suspicious looks, but they seemed to be kept at bay by Severus’s intimidating scowl.

Lupin finally seemed to come to the conclusion that his meeting would not be starting at the scheduled time, and he turned his attention back to the hook-nosed man across from him. “Why are you here, anyway? Wait, did Albus send you? You’re not helping me make peace with the werewolves, are you?” The worried look on Lupin’s face showed that he very much did not want Severus’s help in that endeavor.

Severus couldn’t blame him. He had always made his feelings about those rabid killing machines as obvious as possible. The irony wasn’t lost on Severus that it had been this amiable and polite fellow, who had started his lifelong fear of those vicious monsters. “No, Albus knows better than to send a snake to do a wolf’s job.”

Lupin gave him a friendly smile, as if they had some sort of comradery between them. “Do you think of yourself as a snake, Severus?”

Severus glared, ready for the insult that Black or Potter would have surely thrown at him after a setup like that. “Why wouldn’t I? I am a Slytherin, after all.”

Lupin simply smiled fondly and gave an understanding nod. “For some reason, I always thought of you as a bat.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

Suddenly a shadow appeared over their small table. “Alright, that’s enough. I’m afraid you’re gonna ‘ave to shove off. We don’t serve your kind ‘ere.” The cantankerous bartender had finally shuffled all the way to their small corner.

Lupin offered him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, is there any way you can make an exception for my friend here? I can vouch for him. He won’t be any trouble, I assure you.” Severus’s eye twitched at the word friend, but he didn’t say anything to the contrary.

The wheezy man gave Lupin a confused look, which was strongly emphasized by his gnarled face and crooked teeth. “Not ‘im. We’re fine wiff vampires. Even keep blood on tap, just in case. It’s you that’s gotta go. Don’t take kindly to normals ‘round ‘ere.”

Lupin looked affronted. “I’m not really a normal wizard.”

“I am not a vampire.”

Lupin was calmly waving his hands over himself, in an amiable and gregarious gesture. Severus wondered if he had been this animated when he was a professor. No wonder the younger students had been so fond of him. “You see, I look normal right now, obviously, but I’m actually a werewolf. I understand that it doesn’t seem obvious at this specific moment, but just give it a couple weeks, and they’ll be no doubt.”

The bartender was giving him a dubious expression. “You don’t look like a werewolf.”

“Yes, that’s what I was just explaining.”

The bartender turned his attention back to Severus, and his expression become much politer. “Sorry, sir, what did you say?”

“I said I am not a vampire.”

The bartender just nodded. “Whatever you are, sir, don’t matter to me one drop. We take all kinds o’ dark creatures ‘ere. We don’t ask no questions, neither.”

Lupin sighed. “Really? Because you seem to be questioning me quite a bit.”

“How come you don’t look like a werewolf?”

Lupin’s expression was becoming more and more exasperated. Severus had to force himself not to smirk. “I look like a werewolf for exactly one night a month. The rest of the time, I just look like a regular wizard. I don’t look like a werewolf right at this moment, because it’s not the full moon.”

“You sure?”

“Yes! Believe me, I know very well when the full moon is.”

The bartender seemed to look him up and down for a few moments. Severus understood the confusion. Most werewolves were known to be shrewd, untrusting, and a bit wild. Lupin’s open, friendly, and polite demeanor was everything that one would _not_ expect in a werewolf. “Well, alright. If you say so. I can’t imagine why anyone would claim to be a filthy werewolf ‘less they were one. It’s not really the sort o’ thing someone would lie ‘bout. So, what can I get you two gents?”

Lupin looked horribly offended but didn’t say any more on the subject. He merely ordered them two butterbeers and sent the man away as soon as possible.

Severus quirked a brow. “Butterbeer?”

Lupin shrugged. “If you want something stronger, you can order it yourself. I have a meeting which should have started ten minutes ago. I need my wits about me.”

“When that werewolf gets here, he is going to give you an even harder time than I am for ordering a child’s drink in an establishment such as this. I am more shocked to hear that they have butterbeer in this pub than to hear they have fresh blood.”

Lupin merely drummed his fingers on the table and didn’t offer any comment. He seemed rather unconcerned about what anyone might think about him ordering butterbeer, but then, he had never really been one to pander to public opinion. Something they had in common. “Are you going to tell why you’re here, or did you just come to keep me company?”

“No, actually, I came here to talk about Potter.”

“James?”

“No –” Suddenly two heavy mugs full of golden, foamy liquid landed heavily on the table.

“ ‘Ere you are, gents.” The bartender tried to smile at them, but it looked more like a grimace, a very painful grimace. Severus handed over some sickles before Lupin got the chance, and the bartender gave them one last skeptical look, before shuffling away. Severus noticed that a few of the nearby patrons were looking at their mugs in confusion, as if they didn’t even recognize the drink inside.

Severus ignored them all and continued their conversation where they left off, although slightly calmer after the interruption. The mention of that man had been a little jarring. “No, not him. The boy.”

“Harry?” Lupin picked up his glass and took a careful sip. “What did you want to talk about Harry for? Is everything ok?”

“As far as I know, the boy is in his usual state of annoyingly cheerful, terrifyingly confident, and absolutely healthy.”

“I don’t recall that being his usual state last year,” Lupin interrupted. “Last time I saw Harry, he was more annoyingly sulking, terrifyingly uncertain, and absolutely devastated.”

“Yes, I can only imagine it was difficult for him to be told to behave for once in his life and try to stay out of trouble for one whole year. That and he didn’t even have his usual legions of doting fans.” Severus rolled his eyes. “I’m sure the newspapers spouting on about him being ‘The Chosen One’ have put the spring back in his step.”

Lupin looked like he was about to say something, but then he simply sighed and gave his head a slight shake. “I’m sorry, Severus, did you just come here to complain about Harry, or was there a point to this visit?”

“What do you know of Potter’s childhood?”

Lupin lifted his mug again and took another thoughtful sip. “Why do you want to know about Harry’s childhood?”

It was Severus’s turn to try the Butterbeer. It tasted like it usually did, which was overly sweet and absolutely disgusting. He wasn’t sure what he expected. “It has come to my attention that Potter may have been kept from knowing certain pertinent information as he grew up.”

Lupin looked concerned by this, as Severus knew he would be. “What information was kept from Harry?”

While Lupin’s cadence of voice quickened, Severus’s became more deliberate and leaden. “That is what I am trying to determine.”

“Who was keeping things from Harry? His relatives? Those muggles?”

“His muggle relatives, perhaps. And, possibly…others.” Snape kept it purposely vague.

“What made you think this? What made you think this was a possibility?”

Severus was already prepared for this question and had readied a simple lie, not too far from the truth. “A conversation I overheard between two Death Eaters. It might all be lies, of course. However, I thought it best to investigate for myself, and determine if there was any truth to it.”

“Have you reported this to Albus?”

Severus didn’t want to admit to Lupin that Albus Dumbledore might be one of the people keeping things from Potter, if not the guiltiest party. He suspected, if push came to shove, that Lupin would choose Potter over the headmaster, much like he himself had. However, he didn’t want to start planting seeds of doubt just yet, especially if they might not be necessary at all.

“I will report to the headmaster if I determine there is something that needs to be reported.”

Lupin was not so easily misled, however. “You suspect Albus might be keeping things from Harry?”

“The headmaster is obviously keeping a great many things from Potter. The question is whether or not he is keeping information that Potter should have been informed of.”

Lupin sighed and looked off toward a group of banshees huddled in the far corner. Although, he didn’t seem to really be paying them any attention. “I suppose that would be a matter of opinion.”

“Certain things are a matter of opinion, and certain things are a matter of willful deception. Which brings me back to my original question. What do you know of Potter’s childhood?”

This time, Lupin was much more willing to comply. “Not too much, to be honest. I know he was raised by muggles; his aunt and uncle. I suppose everyone knows that. I know he doesn’t get along with them. I’ve never heard him say anything nice about them, but then, he almost never talks about them at all. I know he would have much rather lived with Sirius than them. He talked about that often enough.” Lupin paused to take another sip of his Butterbeer, while he thought. “Let’s see, when I was first teaching Harry, back when he first found out that I knew his parents, he asked me a million questions about them. He didn’t seem to know much of anything about their personalities, or likes and dislikes, or who they really were as people. I can only assume his aunt and uncle never talked about James or Lily.”

This didn’t surprise Severus; Petunia had always seemed jealous and spiteful toward Lily. As far as he was aware, they weren’t at all close toward the end of her life. So, it seemed unlikely Petunia would be overly sharing regarding stories about Lily, let alone her husband. “Do you know how they treat the boy?”

“As far as I’m aware, they’re just as apathetic toward him and he is towards them. I remember Harry told me that he hated staying there because he always felt completely cut off from the magical world. I guess they don’t like magic much, and he doesn’t feel like he can really talk to them about his classes, or his personal problems, or really much of anything about his life.” Lupin sighed. “I’m afraid I don’t know much of anything useful. You might just have to ask him.”

Severus really hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “What about his friends?”

“Ron and Hermione?”

“No, his childhood friends. Anyone from the neighborhood. Any other children who might be able to shed light on his home life.”

Lupin looked concerned at that. “You know, Harry once told me that Hedwig was his only friend at Privet Drive.”

“Hedwig?”

“His owl.” Lupin was looking more and more thoughtful, as if just realizing that something might be really wrong. “I don’t think he had _any_ friends in Little Whinging. He certainly never talked about any. He just said he was lonely at his Aunt and Uncle’s place, and only had his owl to keep him company. I’m not sure if he _ever_ had any friends before he came to Hogwarts.”

Severus found that hard to believe. The little brat had been one of the most popular boys at school since he first arrived, excepting the times he was embroiled in scandal. He was James Potter’s son, for Merlin’s sake. Technically, he was Lily’s son as well. They had both always been popular. The thought of their son, Harry Potter, being a lonely child was almost too absurd to imagine. As much as he hated to think about the boy, whenever his thoughts had strayed to imagining what Potter had been like as a younger child, Severus had always imagined Potter as an overly confident, spoilt troublemaker, with a gang of hooligans trailing in his wake, going from misadventure to mischief to mayhem, and generally causing a nuisance for as many people as possible.

However, that version of the boy (one with a gang of loyal miscreants) would have had people to go back to every summer. Merlin, even Lily had had muggle friends around the neighborhood and at her school. True, she grew further apart from them as she grew closer to the wizarding world and closer with Severus, and she barely corresponded with any of them by the time she finished Hogwarts, but she had certainly had friends when she was living in the muggle world. Why didn’t her son? Could it possibly be true that Potter had a friendless childhood?

Lupin didn’t have much else to add to help solve this mystery. He did recommend that Severus speak to Arthur and Molly, as Arthur had actually been to Potter’s house and briefly met his uncle, and Molly usually took care of Potter once he returned from his relative’s house. Severus conceded that that was probably a good idea, but he would wait until after the school year started. He didn’t want to see Potter himself, unless he absolutely had to.

With their business concluded, Severus checked the time. It was almost half an hour till midnight. “It seems I was right about your appointment.”

Lupin simply gave him that same understanding smile. “Yes, you were right. However, I will continue to arrive at meetings at the scheduled time. You’ll have to forgive me if I continue to hope for the best from people.”

Severus simply sneered at those words. His outlook on life was more or less the opposite of that.

As he stood to leave, Lupin stopped him. “Oh Severus, I almost forgot to say. Congratulations on the new Defense Against the Dark Arts post.” Severus turned and scrutinized Lupin for a long time. The man couldn’t possibly have been sincere in his congratulations. After all, Lupin had very much enjoyed that same position until Severus himself had revealed his little secret and caused his swift, early retirement. There was no possible way Lupin felt anything other than resentment. However, Lupin’s easy-going smile did not seem the least bit forced, and his open and honest amber eyes held a quiet kindness in them. Apparently, Lupin was infinitely more forgiving than Severus could ever be. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher didn’t quite know what to say to that, so he simply nodded, and made his way to the exit as swiftly and silently as possible.

***

Harry hoisted his trunk up into the overhead bin and sat down next to Neville in their little compartment on the Hogwarts Express. The journey to platform Nine and Three Quarters had been much less stressful than usual, with the Ministry lending two spacious cars to drive Harry and his entire entourage to King’s Cross Station. Harry couldn’t help but remember how Sirius had snuck with him to the train station last year, disguised as the dog, Snuffles. He tried to put that thought out of his mind and distract himself by asking Neville and Luna about their summers, while he waited for Ron and Hermione to finish their Prefect duties.

Neville was excited to have a new wand, one of the last from Ollivander, before the man went missing. Luna already had her nose in the Quibbler, which apparently was doing quite well. Harry felt he would always have a soft spot for the magazine, after they printed his interview last year. Although, his fondness didn’t extend quite so far as to actually buy a subscription. Their articles were just a little too colorful for him.

After the discussion of their various summer adventures, Harry had to shoo away a very rude fourth year girl named Romilda Vane, who tried to invite Harry to her compartment by insulting his friends. Finally, once things were settled down, and the train was making its way through the countryside, Harry steered the conversation over to something he’d been wondering about. “Hey Neville, can I ask you a slightly personal question?”

“Oh? Yeah, sure Harry. You can ask me anything.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure how to even phrase it. “Are you the Heir of the Longbottom house?”

Neville gave him a confused look. “Er, yeah. I’m Heir Longbottom. I don’t know if that’s really a personal question, though. I just sort of figured that was common knowledge.”

Harry shrugged. “I suppose. I’m sure it’s common knowledge for other purebloods. So, does that mean you’ll be Lord Longbottom one day? Do you have a seat on the Wizengamot and all that?”

Neville’s smile was a little awkward, but then, that was nothing new. “I mean, one day, I suppose. My grandmother is the Dowager Lady Longbottom right now. The Longbottom’s have got a seat on the Wizengamot, and Gran’s fairly involved in all that. I don’t really know much about it, to be honest. I know some purebloods train their kids in all that stuff from a young age, but I think Gran always tried to involve me as little as possible. I don’t think she’ll pass on the Lordship to me till the day she dies.”

Harry was intrigued by that. “How does someone pass on a Lordship?”

Neville scratched his nose and looked thoughtful. “I think you just have to fill out the paperwork. You have to pass it on to a relative, obviously. You can’t just give away your Lordship to whoever you like. So, if you’re the Lord (or Lady) and you die, it goes to your next of kin automatically. But, if you want, you can name some other relative in their place as your Heir, and they’ll get it instead. Also, if you want, you can pass it along while you’re still alive. A lot of Lords do that as they get really old, or if they just don’t want to bother anymore. I don’t think Gran would be interested in that, though. But it’s ok. I don’t think I was really made for politics.” Neville gave a sheepish sort of shrug.

Harry could imagine Neville’s grandmother holding onto that Lordship like a niffler holds onto a Galleon. It was no secret she felt Neville didn’t quite live up to the standards that his Auror parents had set. Just listening to some of Neville’s stories of his older relatives trying to ‘scare the magic out of him’ in the hopes that he wasn’t a squib, reminded Harry vaguely of his own childhood, which was not a flattering comparison. Harry turned to Luna instead. “Do the Lovegoods have a Lordship, Luna?”

Luna didn’t even look up from her magazine. “No, we’re not a very old house. We’re quite young by comparison, not like the Longbottoms or the Potters.”

“So, the Potters _do_ have a Lordship?”

Neville looked extremely confused by this. Even Luna raised her head from the pages of the Quibbler to look at Harry, which was quite jarring since she was wearing her spectroscope glasses. However, it was Neville who asked what they were both thinking. “Wait, do you not know, Harry?”

Harry sighed and relayed the story of his little encounter at Madam Malkin’s, in which Malfoy had mentioned a Lordship which Harry had never even heard of before. Neville seemed a little confused about what Harry was doing talking to Draco Malfoy, but Harry didn’t really want to explain the suspicious offer of a truce right at that moment, especially after arguing about it with Ron and Hermione for weeks.

In the end, Neville confirmed that the Potters definitely had a Lordship, and he could only assume Harry was the Heir. However, typically when the Heir wasn’t of age, their guardian would vote in their stead, and should be the one to explain all these things to them. Harry figured that that explained why he had never heard anything about it. He doubted the Dursleys had any idea he was a Lord, and even if they did, they certainly wouldn’t tell him about it.

***

After Ron and Hermione had returned from their Prefect duties, Harry and Neville were invited to the compartment of the new Professor Slughorn. There, they ate rolls and pheasant and were introduced to Blaise Zabini, a stuck up Slytherin from their year; Cormac McLaggen, an obnoxious Gryffindor from the year above; Marcus Belby, a poor Ravenclaw who didn’t seem to hold Slughorn’s attention for long; and Ginny, who seemed just as surprised to be there as Harry was to see her.

The strange little lunch date went on for hours, and Slughorn spent most of the time questioning Harry about the incident at the Department of Mysteries, and then praising him for his obvious skill. Harry could not have been more relieved when Slughorn finally dismissed them.

As soon as Harry was free, and he noticed the corridor was clear, he slipped under his invisibility cloak and followed Zabini back to the Slytherin sixth year compartment, in the hopes of gaining some type of clue as to what Malfoy was up to. Sure enough, Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Greg Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson were all lounging around when Zabini returned, closely followed by Harry. Harry hoped against hope that no one saw his foot slip when he hoisted himself up into the luggage rack, but none of the Slytherins gave any comment, so he seemed to be in the clear.

From his vantage point in the overhead bin, Harry watched as the Slytherins discussed what had happened at the ‘Slug Club’ meeting, and Draco seemed rather miffed that he hadn’t received an invitation. He practically seethed when Zabini told the blonde that Slughorn wasn’t interested in Death Eaters. Eventually, the conversation steered to the subject of Harry himself.

Malfoy, who had been lying across the seat, with his head in Parkinson’s lap, suddenly sat up with a scowl. “Of course famous Harry Potter got an invitation. I bet Slughorn was foaming at the mouth for the chance to get Potter in his stupid little club.”

Zabini rolled his dark eyes. “So, because he got invited and you didn’t, suddenly it’s a stupid little club?”

Malfoy glared at Zabini for a moment, but then he simply sighed, shrugged, and laid his head back down in Parkinson’s lap. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. Who cares what Potter does this year, or ever again for that matter. I’m done with all that, anyway.”

“What!?” Zabini and Parkinson yelled at the same time. Even Crabbe and Goyle looked more confused than usual, which was quite the achievement.

“You heard me, I’m done with all that. I don’t care what Potter does. I’m not going to be fighting with him this year, or ever again. I have more important things to do.”

Parkinson looked almost scandalized. “Like what?”

“Like try and improve my family’s standing. Get back in good graces with the Wizengamot. Maybe try to secure a job for when I graduate. My father’s not going to be able to get me one…not anymore.”

Zabini looked just as skeptical and Harry felt. “So, you’re _not_ going to be spending the entire year complaining about Potter?”

Draco turned his head and glared up at Zabini, who was about as tall as Ron and had several inches on Malfoy. “I don’t complain about Potter that much.”

Zabini gave him a cheeky grin. “The only things you ever seem to talk about are how annoying Potter is and how terrible Dumbledore is. When you’re not complaining about one, you’re complaining about the other.” Harry was strangely reminded of a similar argument he had not too long ago with the Weasleys.

“Well, not anymore. I’m done fighting with Potter. This year, the rivalry ends.”

Parkinson and Zabini shared a look. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” Parkinson looked like she was trying to stifle her laughter.

“It’s true. In fact, I ran into Potter in Diagon Alley and I offered him a truce.”

Parkinson’s laughter turned into a coughing fit. “You what!?”

Crabbe looked scandalized. “Truce? Potter?”

Zabini seemed almost intrigued by the very idea. “He didn’t actually accept, did he?”

“Not yet, but I think he might with time. It’s not as though he doesn’t have enough on his plate to deal with.”

Parkinson was trying to scoot away from Malfoy, as though she didn’t want to touch anyone who was in a truce with Harry Potter, but Zabini was simply nodding his head thoughtfully. “That’s reasonable. I still can’t imagine you actually offering a truce to Potter. Didn’t he snub you when you first met?”

“Yes!” Malfoy sat up again, like a shot. Parkinson looked almost relieved to have distance between them. “The first day I met him, on the Hogwarts Express, he wouldn’t even shake my hand! Crabbe and Goyle were there; they saw it, too.” Crabbe and Goyle nodded their heads dutifully, and Harry rolled his invisible eyes.

Parkinson looked annoyed by this entire conversation. “So, why would you offer him a truce? Not only is he the Dark Lord’s number one target, he’s an arsehole. If you want to stay the hell away from him, fine, that makes sense. But why would you offer him a bleeding truce?”

Zabini didn’t seem as angry, just curious. “Why _would_ you offer him a truce? Were you serious? Do you actually want to end your whole rivalry thing with Potter?”

“Yes, I actually want to end this stupid rivalry thing with Potter. I don’t know why that’s so hard to believe.” The other four Slytherins gave him a look that said they all found that very hard to believe, and Harry had to agree. “Besides, I don’t think he really meant to snub me that day on the train. I think I may have made a bad first impression without realizing it.”

Parkinson scoffed “Who cares?”

Malfoy looked thoughtful for a moment. “He said the strangest thing to me. When we were chatting in Diagon Alley. It didn’t make any sense, but I don’t think he was lying.”

Zabini was smirking. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to go a whole year without talking about Potter.”

Draco’s grey eyes, which had been staring off at nothing, narrowed in annoyance as they swiveled back to his dark-skinned friend. “Do you want to hear what he said or not?”

Zabini’s smirk never wavered. “Yes, obviously.”

“He said that he didn’t know he was a wizard until the day he got his Hogwarts letter. He said it so earnestly, too, like it was something he was really upset about. But that doesn’t make any sense. I mean, he was the baby who stopped the bloody Dark Lord, ‘the Boy-Who-Lived’ or whatever. How could be possibly be a squib? I mean, talk about accidental magic!”

The others seemed just as confused by this mystery. Apparently, it didn’t occur to any of them that Harry might possibly _not_ have known that he was the Boy-Who-Lived, or that there was a Dark Lord, or that magic even existed, for that matter.

Harry waited while the train slowed down and the Slytherins slipped into their school robes. He tried to stifle his grunt when Goyle shoved his trunk right into his groin, but the others didn’t seem to notice, so Harry simply waited for them to leave the compartment when the train pulled into Hogsmeade station.

When Malfoy told the others to go ahead without him because he needed to check on something, Harry was excited that he might get some clue about the mystery item Malfoy bought at Borgin and Burke’s. However, that hope died in his throat when Malfoy shut the compartment door, turned to look up at the luggage rack, and said, “I know you’re there, Potter.”

Harry’s brain went into overdrive. He tried to reach for his wand from inside his pocket, but before he could pull it out, Malfoy started walking toward him saying, “I’m not holding a wand, so you better not curse me.” Harry finally got ahold of his wand and aimed it right at the blonde, whose head was now only a foot or two away, but before he could think of any spell to use, Malfoy yanked on the cloak and pulled it off. “Hah!” he yelled, “I jolly well knew it.”

There Harry lay, crouched in a fetal position in the overhead luggage bin, with his wand pointed right at Malfoy’s face, and he didn’t really know what to do next. He had assumed that if he were caught, he would have to defend himself, but Malfoy was just giving him a very unimpressed look. Besides, as much as Harry hated the Slytherin git, Malfoy was right about one thing, Harry wasn’t about to attack someone who was unarmed and not attacking him. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

Malfoy sighed and held Harry’s precious cloak at his side. “I told you what I wanted back at the robe shop; I want out of this. I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”

“Well, excuse me if I find that a little difficult to believe.”

Draco rolled his eyes and tossed the cloak back at Harry. “You can believe whatever you like, I said my peace and I apologized, if you want to keep antagonizing me and _spying on me_ , then that’s on you.”

Harry caught his cloak in his left hand and looked it over, trying to suppress his obnoxious guilt. Malfoy had extended him a peace offering twice now, and Harry was now the one who was forcing their rivalry to continue. Maybe Hermione was right, maybe if there was even a chance that peace could be brokered, he should at least try for it. However, he wasn’t about to let his guard down, just in case.

Harry scrambled down from the overhead, without taking his wand off Malfoy. The blonde simply waited patiently for him to regain his footing. Harry looked Malfoy up and down. He looked more or less the same as last year; the same pale, pointed face. Although, his features were perhaps a little sharper and more defined. He had the same silvery blonde hair; not slicked back the way he used to wear it, but still styled carefully. His eyes were just as steely and grey as they had always been, but they were missing their usual cruelty. Malfoy had only grown an inch or two; he was still taller than Harry, but at least he didn’t tower over him like Ron did.

Harry’s bright eyes met Malfoy’s pale ones. “I don’t want to fight anymore, either.”

“Really? Because that wand you have pointed at my face paints a slightly different picture.”

Harry sighed and carefully lowered his wand. “Were you really serious about that truce?”

Malfoy gave a look as if he didn’t understand where he would find the patience to deal with such idiocy. “Obviously I was serious. I actually have better things to do with my time than to go around offering fake-truces to people. I’m tired of fighting. I have more important things to do. If you can’t leave me alone, then that’s your problem.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “If I had offered you a truce, you would have spat in my face. Or more likely, you would have shaken my hand and then cursed me behind my back.”

“At least I would have shaken your hand!”

“Oh for the love of –” Suddenly, Harry shoved his wand back in his pocket and then held out his hand. “Here. You want to shake my hand so badly, here it is.”

Malfoy looked at it skeptically with his arms still folded in front of himself, defensively. The Slytherin gave him a long, assessing look. “Why did you say you didn’t know you were a wizard until the day you got your Hogwarts letter?”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

Malfoy just shrugged. “I want to know.”

“Fine,” Harry lowered his hand, not about to leave it hanging like an idiot. “I said that because…” Suddenly the compartment door slid open, interrupting their talk.

Tonks’s bright face poked through the door. “Watcher Harry. There you are. Thank Merlin! I was worried when you didn’t get off the train.” She looked skeptically between Harry and Malfoy. “Is everything alright in here?”

Harry put his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, everything’s fine. We were just talking.” He gave Tonks a sheepish grin. She looked paler than usual, almost sickly, and her spikey hair was a mousey brown instead of its usual bright pink or blue or purple.

She looked over at Draco Malfoy once again. “Are you sure?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. We’re fine. Just talking.”

Malfoy gave her a cold sneer. “He said he’s fine. What’s it to you? Who are you, anyway? Potter’s bodyguard?”

Tonks gave the boy a piercing look, and then she smirked at him. “I’m the daughter of Andromeda Black and Ted Tonks. That’s who I am.”

Malfoy instantly went paler than usual. His mouth opening slightly in shock. It took Harry a moment to realize why. “Oh yeah, you two are cousins, right?”

Tonks looked quite pleased with the reaction she had caused in the young Malfoy heir. She nodded enthusiastically at Harry. “Oh yeah, I’m the estranged half-blood cousin who went on to become an Auror. They probably don’t talk about me much at family dinners. I’m pretty sure Mum was blasted off the family tree long before I came around.”

Malfoy still looked pale and small. “I…I didn’t realize…”

“Clearly.” Tonks simply gave him a playful wink. “Anyway, come on you two. You missed the carriages, so I’ll walk you to the gates.”

Harry fell into step beside Malfoy and looked over at the shocked aristocrat. Malfoy seemed almost as shaken as he had when he first saw Harry at the robe shop. Harry wondered what was going on with him, but he came to a decision. “I’ll tell you later.”

Malfoy looked up confused, so Harry elaborated. “Why I didn’t know I was a wizard. I’ll tell you later.”

Malfoy nodded. “Tomorrow?” he offered. “After class?”

Harry nodded back. “Sure. We’ll talk then.”

***

That evening, at the start of term feast, Harry told his friends what he had overheard in the Slytherin compartment, and his agreement to meet with Malfoy tomorrow. Hermione seemed apprehensive that Harry and Malfoy couldn’t be alone together without one of them starting a fight, and she warned him to try and be on his best behavior. Ron, on the other hand, was sure this was a trap, and warned Harry to bring the map and cloak with him, just in case. Harry didn’t really think he needed either of these warnings. Obviously it could be a trap and obviously he shouldn’t go picking a fight. However, he thanked his friends for their concern and their well-meaning advice.

After the last of the puddings were finished off, the students received some fascinating news. Apparently, Slughorn was not teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts after all. He was the new potions master, and Snape had finally gotten his wish of securing the coveted Defense post he’d been after for years. Harry wasn’t sure what this would mean exactly, but he figured that if it made Snape happy, it was probably bad news for him.


	5. The Proxy

The next morning, Harry and Ron were thrilled to discover that their E grades were perfectly adequate to take NEWT Level Potions with Slughorn. Apparently, Harry’s dream of becoming an Auror was not quite as shattered as he’d feared. He and Ron would be able to join Hermione in that morning’s Potions lesson.

Slughorn could not have been a greater contrast to Snape. It was strange being taught Potions by someone who was encouraging, helpful, and capable of smiling. Harry left Double Potions with a huge grin on his face and a small vial of Felix Felicis in his pocket. He was feeling rather confident, until he walked past a tapestry of a young wizard facing off against a dragon. Suddenly, a hand shot out to yank him behind.

Without any warning, Harry found himself in darkness. “What the –” The only reason his didn’t trip over himself was because a pair of firm hands were holding him in place.

There was a murmur of “Lumos” and then there was light. Green eyes stared into a pale, pointed face. Harry’s holly wand was out in a second, but before he could think of an appropriate hex, Malfoy was already bending down to pick something up. “Here, I think you dropped this.”

Harry looked down at the beaten and battered Potions text in Malfoy’s hand. The same book he had just used to brew the best Draught of Living Death he would likely ever brew in his life. The same book which, apparently, was ‘property of the Half-Blood Prince.’ Harry snatched it back with a jerk. “Give me that.”

Malfoy quirked a silvery yellow brow. “I’d be careful with it if I were you. That thing looks like it’s been dropped a few times already. Likely from a substantial height.”

“Who asked you?” Harry scowled, as he tucked the book safely into his bag. “Anyway, what in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing dragging me into dark passageways? I thought you wanted a truce or whatever.” Harry started walking down the narrow, hidden corridor. He knew the Marauder’s Map almost by heart at this point, and he knew this passage eventually led back to the main floor of the castle; it was just a longer route.

Malfoy strode after him, just as quickly, but much more gracefully. “I do want a truce, but you said you’d tell me the mystery of why you didn’t know you were a wizard, today after class.”

Harry reached the end of the passage, pushed open the backside of a portrait, and jumped down into a torch-lit hallway. The young woman in the frame that seconded as a secret door, called out to him as he considered slamming her in Malfoy’s face. “You’d better hurry or you’ll be late for lunch.”

“Oh, I know.” Harry simply turned on his heel and strode from the hidden passage as quickly as he could. “You know, Malfoy,” he called over his shoulder. “I meant after _all_ the classes, not after the first bloody class of the day.”

He was hoping to lose the blonde, but the boy was surprisingly agile, dropping down onto the flagstone floor with barely a moment’s hesitation. “Yes, that’s what I assumed, but I didn’t want to give you the chance to change your mind.” He darted along with annoyingly long legs until he quickly caught up to Harry. “So, tell me. What the hell did you mean when you said you didn’t know you were a wizard? How does that even make sense?”

“It’s the story of my life, it doesn’t have to make sense.” Harry began stomping up a set of stairs, with Malfoy barely two steps behind him. Suddenly the staircase beneath them began to jerk. It was changing directions midway. “Oh great, now we’ll have to go down the east corridor and around the whole laundry area to make it back up to the main floor.”

Malfoy gave him a skeptical look. “How do you know your way around the dungeons so well?”

Harry shrugged. “I know my way around the whole castle. I’ve explored it enough.” Finally, the staircase settled on a new landing, and the two made their way along the new route. “If they run out of rolls before I get to the Great Hall, I’m going to be pissed, Malfoy.”

Once again, Harry tried to march quickly enough to out-pace Malfoy, but the Slytherin was far more capable of making long strides, and he did it with far more poise. “If you simply told me what you promised you would, it would help pass the time.”

They turned another corner and entered a long, windowless, gallery of portraits. The two were now only one floor below the ground level, but they still needed to get to the other side of the castle. “I never promised anything.” Harry tried to intimidate Malfoy with an imposing glare, but Malfoy just glared right back. Harry noticed several of the portraits were glaring at him, as well, annoyed that Harry was interrupting their peaceful morning.

'Perhaps,' Harry thought, 'I should just get this over with?' He could tell Malfoy one small piece of his story and the git would finally leave him alone. Hopefully, for the rest of the year, if not the rest of his life. He sighed and began walking at a much more reasonable pace. “Fine.” He strode past painting after painting of annoyed faces. “I’m sure you know I was raised by muggles. It’s not exactly a secret.” Malfoy nodded. “Well, the whole time I was growing up, they never told me I was a wizard. I didn’t even know magic existed or any of that other stuff until I got my Hogwarts letter.”

Harry had hoped it would be over quickly, like ripping off a bandage. However, he hadn’t counted on having to explain it over and over again before it finally sunk into Malfoy’s thick skull. By the time they were finally close to the Great Hall, Malfoy was still asking inane questions. “So, I don’t understand, how did you think you defeated the Dark Lord if you didn’t know about magic?”

“I didn’t know about _any_ of it! I didn’t know about any dark lords.”

They were making their way up to the steps toward the Entrance Hall, and Harry had just about reached his breaking point, but Malfoy kept going. “But then why else would you be so famous? Why would so many people care about you, if you hadn’t defeated the Dark Lord?”

“I didn’t know I was famous. I didn’t think anyone cared about me.”

 They were finally at the entrance to the Great Hall. “Then how did you think that you got your scar?”

“In the car crash that killed my parents, now would you stop asking questions!?” Malfoy snapped his mouth shut when Harry rounded on him. Harry’s back was to the students now eating lunch, but he was sure he’d be drawing more and more attention the longer he stood there. “Look, you wanted an explanation and I bloody gave you one. Now, let’s get to ignoring each other for the rest of the year. That sounded lovely.”

He stormed off toward the Gryffindor table without a backward glance at Malfoy. It did not improve his mood when he discovered that Ron had already finished the last of the rolls.

***

Harry was hoping that his offer to share one small piece of information with Malfoy would convince the other boy to drop the issue. He was, therefore, rather unhappy that afternoon, when Malfoy tried to get his attention yet again in the middle of Defense Against the Dark Arts. “Potter…hey…Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes and tried not to think about the Slytherin who had, ever so inconveniently, taken up the dueling position next to Ron and himself. He tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but it was rather difficult with Malfoy’s incessant goading.

“Hey Potter.”

“Shut it, Malfoy.” Harry didn’t even glance in the direction of the blonde. He kept his eyes on Ron, just in case the redhead managed to cast a hex while Harry wasn’t looking. “What part of non-verbal did you not understand?”

Snape had set them to the task of trying to cast wordless hexes and shield charms. Harry still hadn’t managed to get any shield to come out, but it wasn’t really a problem, since Ron wasn’t producing much of anything that he needed to shield himself from. Malfoy, meanwhile, was having the same issue with his partner, Blaise Zabini. However, Malfoy had clearly given up on waiting for Zabini to produce any wordless magic and had instead diverted all his attention to Harry.

“Potter, you said over the summer that you didn’t know you had a Lordship. So, I take it no one told you about that, either?” Malfoy was twirling his wand in his hand without a care. Harry really hoped that Zabini managed to produce a powerful hex, just to teach Malfoy a lesson about turning his back in the middle of a duel.

“Malfoy, shut it, you’re going to get us both in trouble.”

The Slytherin just shrugged. “Snape doesn’t care.” This did seem to be the case, since Malfoy’s whispers barely maintained the pretense of subtlety. Yet, Snape had hardly spared them a glance. “So, did you know that you had a vote on the Wizengamot?”

Malfoy had this suspiciously innocent look on his face, which only irked Harry more. It must have irked Ron as well, because Ron spoke up before anyone else got the chance. “Harry doesn’t care about your stupid little Pureblood club, Malfoy! He has more important things to worry about.”

“Weasley!” Apparently, that had caught Snape’s attention. “Wordless magic means: without words. Five points from Gryffindor.” Ron clenched his fists and used his newfound fury to try and fuel his next hex, but once again, his wand didn’t so much as spark.

Malfoy looked for a moment like he was trying not to laugh, but as soon as Harry turned to glare at him, his face quickly smoothed out into one of innocent curiosity, which immediately set Harry on edge. Once again, Malfoy lowered his voice to what probably sounded like a whisper to someone standing in the far corner of the room. “Well, Potter, I was just wondering if you knew who was using your vote before you came of age?”

Harry scowled. “Nobody’s using my vote, obviously, since my guardians are muggles, and they’re not exactly active in wizarding politics.”

“Potter!” Snape’s dreary voice was even lower in volume than Malfoy’s whisper, and yet it seemed to carry infinitely more weight. “Again, I must remind the Gryffindors that nonverbal means that talking will not be necessary. That will cost you another ten points. This is my final warning.”

Harry didn’t even bother to point out how unfair this was. He just tightened his grip on his wand and tried with all his might to make a bloody shield come forth. ‘Protego’ he thought in his mind. ‘Come on, let’s show him what we can do. Protego! Protego! Protego!’ Harry jabbed his wand, as if more force would somehow make the magic burst forth. It didn’t. At least no one else was having any success either. Even Hermione seemed incapable of forming any sort of shield. Not that she really needed one against Neville’s silent, desperate attempts.

Zabini seemed to be inspecting his wand to make sure it still worked. Malfoy wasn’t even pretending to pay attention to the assignment; he was watching Harry carefully. “It’s interesting that you think that no one is using your vote.” Harry tried so hard to ignore him. Who cared what Malfoy had to say anyway? Whatever it was, it was just going to upset him. “I know my father always used to complain about the Potter vote. He’d say ‘It’s just not fair. Dumbledore has two votes, and he’s only the head of one noble family. He gets the Dumbledore Family vote and the Potter Family vote.’”

Harry lowered his wand. He tried not to listen. He wanted not to hear these words, but Malfoy kept talking. “It’s funny. You’d think Dumbledore would have mentioned to his _favorite_ student that he has been using _your_ vote to pass legislation. I wonder, does he tell you _anything_?”

Harry glared the most venomous glare he could manage, but didn’t dare open his mouth, so Malfoy just kept going. “It seems odd that you and Dumbledore are supposedly so close, and yet he would keep such a big secret from you. I would be outraged if I were you. I mean, do you even know what sort of things he’s been passing into law with your vote?”

He just couldn’t take it anymore. “Probably something that I’d highly approve of, if it pissed off your father so badly!”

“Potter!” Of course. “Since you obviously seem to think that my class is the perfect time for socializing, perhaps Saturday evening will seem like the perfect time for getting actual work done. Detention. My office. 8 pm. Don’t be late.”

Harry was trying so hard to restrain his anger, he didn’t even notice the small sparks that erupted at the end of his wand. “Yes, sir.”

Snape swooped back over to the other side of the room to chastise Lavender and Parvati on their ‘poor wandwork.’ Harry was not remotely surprised to see that Malfoy was smirking. He should have known that the boy’s offer of a truce was just an excuse to get information out of Harry, so he could torment him further.

He was about to give the Slytherin prat a few choice words, but Ron beat him to it. “Bugger off, Malfoy. You’ve done enough damage.”

Harry couldn’t help but agree. “Yeah, we knew that your so-called truce was just a lie. You’re never going to change.”

That seemed to wipe the smirk right off Malfoy’s face. He looked startled, almost nervous. It was as if he had suddenly remembered that he should be trying to get along with Harry, instead of egging him on, as was his long-standing habit. Without any warning, words erupted from his mouth. “It’s my fault.”

The whole class froze. All attention was now on the young Malfoy heir. Harry and Ron shared a quick look as if to say: where is he going with this? “It’s my fault, Professor,” Malfoy continued.

Snape slowly stepped back toward them. Everyone was utterly silent. Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if the entire castle had gone quiet. “What are you talking about, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Potter was only talking because I was pestering him. If you’re going to punish anyone you should punish me.” You could have heard a unicorn sneeze. Harry was completely and utterly dumbfounded, and he certainly wasn’t the only one. Pansy Parkinson looked scandalized. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to have been hit with an overenthusiastic Confundus. Even Zabini seemed to be questioning what his eyes and ears were trying to relay to him.

Snape recovered first. “That may be, Mr. Malfoy. However, ‘being pestered’ is not a valid excuse for speaking in my class, especially in the middle of a serious assignment. On the other hand, it is also not acceptable to ‘pester’ other students in the middle of a duel, no matter how pathetic their attempts may be. You will join Mr. Potter in detention this Saturday.” With that, Snape turned with a swirl of his billowing black robes and stalked back to the front of the room. “Back to work.”

The sound of shuffling feet and swishing robes immediate started back up as everyone raised their wands and tried desperately to conjure even a small amount of magic without their voices. Harry pointedly kept his eyes fixed on Ron, but that didn’t stop Malfoy from whispering to him. At least this time he used an actual whisper, not one that the entire class could easily overhear. “Well, looks like we’re in this together now.”

Harry jerked his wand again, but a shield still stubbornly refused to form. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Malfoy, but you’ve got another thing coming if you think this makes up for anything.”

“Well, now at least I’m in detentions with you. So, now we’re even for that at least.”

“No. Now I have to spend Saturday evening with Snape _and you_. That’s not exactly an improvement.” Ron sniggered, and Malfoy finally turned toward his partner and tried (and failed) to cast his own shield. The git seemed to finally realize that nothing he might say was going to improve the situation.

***

Harry was dreading his Saturday detention, and so when a note arrived at dinner, he was thrilled to discover that his Saturday evening would include neither Snape nor Malfoy.

_Dear Harry,_

_I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday._

_Kindly come along to my office at 8 p.m. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore._

_P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops_

“Who’s it from?” Ron asked between mouthfuls of roast beef.

“Dumbledore. Our lessons begin this Saturday. I guess Snape will just have to wait.”

Hermione instantly perked up. “You should ask Professor Dumbledore about what Malfoy mentioned. Find out if he’s really been voting for you and on what legislation.”

“Oh, believe me,” Harry grabbed a roll and began to butter it. “I have every intention of bringing that up.”

***

By the time Saturday rolled around, Harry had amassed a small mountain of homework. He had thought that the OWL year had been tough, but apparently once you entered NEWT level classes, teachers no longer felt that students required sleep. He spent all day in the library with Ron and Hermione trying to make a dent in their workload. He wasn’t quite sure what he would do once Quidditch started in a couple weeks. Harry was Captain this year, so what was normally a recreational activity was going to be even more work than usual.

At a quarter to 8:00, he was more than happy to take a break from his Transfiguration essay. Especially since he would be spending the evening with Professor Dumbledore, and not his two least favorite Slytherins. Although, he wasn’t really sure what he would say to Dumbledore, in light of Malfoy’s recent revelations.

When Harry arrived in the Headmaster’s office, he found the man in question in his usual location, seated behind his large, wooden desk. The office looked just as it had last year. Some of the former headmasters and headmistresses were pretending to be asleep in their frames, but most were watching him avidly. They clearly all remembered the last time Harry was here, when he had thrown a fit over Sirius’s death and smashed several of Dumbledore’s silvery instruments. He was pretty embarrassed about the whole thing in retrospect.

Dumbledore was wearing bright turquoise robes with a shimmering gold trim. However, there was no sign of the large black and gold ring that Harry had seen over the summer, when Dumbledore took him to meet Slughorn.

The headmaster’s right hand looked just as dead and decrepit as it had the last time Harry had seen it. Harry looked right at the hand when he spoke. “Sir, I know you said we’d talk about it another time, but may I ask…”

“Oh, this is nothing to worry about Harry. It seems my reflexes just aren’t quite what they used to be. There’s quite a fascinating story involved, but I’m afraid without the full context, I just won’t be able to do it proper justice. I promise I’ll tell you all about how it happened once the time is right.”

Harry looked closely at the blackened hand. It definitely looked like the kind of thing you ought to worry about. “If you say so, Headmaster.”

“Please take a seat, my boy. Lemon drop?” Harry took up Dumbledore’s offer to sit down but declined the treat. It was then that Harry noticed the pensieve on the headmaster’s desk, and the vial which obviously contained a memory. “So, Harry, how has your first week been treating you?”

“Fine, I suppose, sir. It’s NEWT level now, so things are really stepping up.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, we do like to make sure our students are properly prepared for whatever may come their way.” The headmaster then gave Harry a scrutinizing look, over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “I notice that you and Professor Snape have already begun your yearly back and forth.”

“That’s one way of putting it, sir.” Harry tried not to look too sheepish. Dumbledore always had a way of making him feel guilty, even when he wasn’t sure he necessarily deserved it. “Thanks for getting me out of detention, by the way.”

“I didn’t get you out of anything, I’m afraid. You will be serving your detention with Professor Snape next Saturday.”

“Oh. Great.”

“Perhaps next time you could try to avoid garnering a detention on the very first day of term.” Dumbledore’s words may have been reproachful, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Harry still couldn’t resist defending himself. “It’s not my fault, sir. Malfoy kept egging me on.”

“Ah, so things have already picked up with you and Mr. Malfoy, as well?”

“He was talking about you, Professor.”

“Really?” Dumbledore inquired. “I can only imagine what young Mr. Malfoy would want to say about me in the middle of a Defense Against the Dark Arts lecture.”

“He said that you were using the Potter family seat on the Wizengamot to vote in a bunch of legislation.”

“Ah. Well, I can see why that would upset you. The term ‘bunch’ is hardly appropriate to describe a quantity of bills.”

“But it’s true, though, sir?”

“It’s certainly true that I have been using the Potter vote to help pad the numbers for us Light Wizards. Although, I usually only use it for particularly important legislation, or to break ties. I think in the last few years, I’ve only used it a few times. So, I’m not sure how accurate the term ‘bunch’ would be.”

“So,” Harry was trying very hard to understand why Dumbledore was being so cavalier about this. “You’ve only been voting for me for the last few years, sir?”

“I’m not sure if I would say I was voting for _you_ , my boy, so much as for the Potter family estate. You see, I’ve been using the Potter family vote since before you were born.”

“Before I was born!?”

“Yes, in fact, hold on just a moment.” Dumbledore swept up from his seat and made his way across the office. He walked past Fawkes, who was sleeping quietly on his perch, and headed for a large cabinet behind his desk. “I was only planning on showing you one memory tonight, but I think we may have time for a few others. You don’t have class in the morning, after all, and I think this will help answer quite a few questions you may have.”

Dumbledore reached inside the cabinet and pulled out a few vials of swirling silvery mist and then made his way back to Harry. Without any further ado, he poured the contents of the vials into the pensieve and motioned for Harry to go ahead and take a look. Not needing any further prompting, Harry shot up from his seat, and leaned over until his face just touched the surface of the pearlescent liquid. Suddenly, he felt his feet leave the ground and he was falling as if through a dream.

Harry landed with a jolt in an enormous, unfamiliar room. It reminded him of the large courtroom where his trial had been held the summer before, but it wasn’t quite as inhospitable. There were large stands full of benches around three sides of the room, just as there had been in the courtroom, but everything felt more lavish and grandiose. There was no chair covered in chains in the center of the room, as there had been in the courtroom. Instead, several people were milling around the polished marble floor wearing the old-fashioned, purple robes that Harry recognized as the official robes of the Wizengamot.

After a moment of looking around, Professor Dumbledore floated easily to his side. They were the only two people not covered head to toe in purple, but the mingling witches and wizards didn’t spare them a glance. Harry and Dumbledore weren’t really here, after all, wherever ‘here’ was.

The headmaster seemed to anticipate Harry’s next question. “This, my boy, is the main Chamber of the Wizengamot. I know you are already quite familiar with Courtroom Ten, where your hearing took place. That courtroom is where the Wizengamot meets to pass judgement on trials, especially important trials where the entire committee is in attendance. This room, which we now have the pleasure to visit, is the location where the Wizengamot meets to discuss legislation, and to attend to regular meetings and housekeeping.”

“This is pretty amazing, but why are we here, Professor? What did you want to show me?”

As Harry spoke, a blonde man sitting at a large podium in the middle of the assembly seats started banging on a gavel. “The first meeting of the Wizengamot Summer Session will begin in five minutes. Please begin taking your seats, Lords and Ladies.”

Professor Dumbledore placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder and led him past the shuffling, purple-clad figures, over to the left side of the room. “This way, Harry. There are a couple wizards whom I believe you will recognize.”

They squeezed past a pair of urgently whispering witches and Harry froze. There, in the front row, were two very, very familiar faces. They sat side by side, chatting casually together. On the right, was a younger version of Professor Dumbledore. His hair was just as silver as the man standing beside Harry, but there were a few less lines on his face, and no blackened hand.

The wizard on the left, Harry would have recognized anywhere, because it was almost like looking at his own reflection. The same soft cheekbones. The same nose. The same wire-rimmed glasses. The same mop of messy, black hair. The only difference was their eyes, because Harry had his mother’s eyes. It was as if Harry and his professor were standing in front of a strange mirror, one looking at his past self and the other looking at his future.

James Potter looked to be a few years older than Harry was now, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. He was pulling at the collar of his official robes, as if they made him highly uncomfortable. “I don’t know how you convinced me to come to this thing, Professor Dumbledore. Politics really isn’t my style. Too much sitting around talking, nothing really getting done.”

The younger version of Dumbledore gave an indulgent smile. “My dear boy, I think you’ll find that there are many things in this world that can _only_ be accomplished by people sitting in a room and talking. I think your father would have been very proud that you decided to be a part of such things. Either way, I do appreciate that you are doing me a personal favor by attending today.” Harry’s father blushed at the praise, just as Harry always did when Professor Dumbledore gave him a compliment. Although, James also had a cocky smirk on his lips, which would have looked rather out of place on Harry’s face. “Speaking of favors,” Dumbledore continued. “You are not a student anymore James, I would welcome you to call me Albus.”

“Albus, huh? That will take a little getting used to.”

The noise of the gavel rang throughout the assembly, and Harry turned to see that same blonde wizard calling everyone to order. The Wizengamot seating seemed to be broken up into three sections. There were several wizards and witches sitting on the left side of the room, with the younger Dumbledore and James Potter. On the opposite, right hand side, was another group of members. Then, at the front of the room, between the two sides, was a third group. In the center of this group, at a raised dais, was the wizard who was calling for everyone to settle down. “Let the 436th Summer Session of the Wizengamot come to order in this year 1978.”

Harry watched the blonde wizard bang his gavel one final time. Unlike the other Lords and Ladies assembled, who all had a silver ‘W’ on their robes, this man had the letter ‘C.’ Upon further inspection, Harry thought the gentleman looked vaguely familiar. There was just something about his pale, pointed face that set off alarms in the back of his mind. “Who’s that, professor?”

The Dumbledore who was wearing turquoise robes seemed quite happy to answer questions. “That, my boy, is the current Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, as of 1978. His name is Abraxas Malfoy. I believe you are quite familiar with his grandson, young Draco Malfoy.”

“That’s Malfoy’s grandfather?” Harry examined the man even closer. He looked quite a bit like Lucius Malfoy, with the same long, blonde hair.

Dumbledore chuckled. “Well, not quite his grandfather yet, obviously. Draco has yet to be born as of this memory. I’m not sure if his parents were even married at this point.”

Malfoy’s grandfather finished reading through the announcements and moved on to more important matters. “Now, is there any new business that the members would like to bring to attention?”

“Chief Warlock.” Everyone in the room, including Harry, turned to look at James Potter. He was standing to address the current Lord Malfoy, but he was also leaning casually against the front rail of the stands. He looked far more charismatic and cool than Harry was sure he would ever look in his entire life.

Abraxas Malfoy, however, did not appear impressed. “Heir Potter, or should I say, Lord Potter now? Such a shame to hear that both your parents fell to Dragon Pox, and with you barely out of Hogwarts, as well.”

Harry’s father narrowed his eyes, but didn’t back down one inch. “Chief Warlock, I have a motion to bring to the floor.”

Malfoy’s grandfather didn’t back down, either. “Do you now? I wasn’t aware that you were even interested in politics.”

James smirked at that. “I have absolutely no interest in politics. I have every interest in knocking you down a peg.” Harry laughed, as did several of the wizards and witches on the left side of the room. Both Dumbledores were watching impassively, with matching cheerful smiles.

One of the witches near Abraxas Malfoy stood to whisper something to him, but we waved her down. “I know, I know,” he muttered. “The floor recognizes Lord Potter.”

James stood a little straighter at that; he’d clearly won their little interaction. “I move that we open the floor for a vote. I think it’s time we had a new Chief Warlock.”

Abraxas paled considerably at that. “You are nominating a new Chief Warlock? Who?”

James looked just as cocky as he had when Harry had watched him playing with the snitch in Snape’s memory. “I nominate Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

Another wizard a couple rows behind them practically jumped from his seat. “I second that nomination.”

The Dumbledore who was being nominated relaxed into his seat, giving off every indication that he was merely pleasantly amused by what was happening around him. Meanwhile, everyone began voting. Harry noticed that most of the wizards and witches on the right side of the room voted to keep Abraxas Malfoy, while all the wizards and witches of the left side of the room voted in Dumbledore’s favor. The Wizengamot members in the front area, between them, seemed more evenly split in their votes.

Even without counting the individual votes, it was clear that Dumbledore had a slight advantage in numbers. Malfoy’s grandfather seemed to have reached the same conclusion. He scowled darkly and announced, “It seems the motion has passed. The new Chief Warlock is Lord Albus Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore stood gracefully and made his way over to the center podium as James whooped and clapped. Several Lords and Ladies gave the messy-haired young man scandalized looks over his uncouth behavior. James’s clapping quickly died out. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do we not do that here?”

Malfoy’s grandfather looked particularly disgusted. “This is not a quidditch match, Lord Potter. Please behave with some level of decorum.”

Unlike the wizards in the right-hand stands, the younger Dumbledore looked quite amused by James’s cheers, and winked over at him from behind his spectacles. He finally made his way up the narrow steps toward Malfoy’s dais. “My dear Abraxas, I believe you are in my seat.”

The blonde turned his attention to Dumbledore, and his face became even more disgusted. “We are not friends, Lord Dumbledore. You will address me by my proper title of Lord Malfoy.”

Dumbledore simply smiled. “In that case, I must insist that you address me by my proper title of Chief Warlock.” As Dumbledore said that, the silver ‘W’ on his robes transformed into a ‘C’ and Malfoy’s robes went through the opposite transformation.

While Dumbledore took up his proper seat, Harry could see his father laughing over on the other side of the room. He was nudging one of his neighbors, as he draped over a couple seats to get into a more comfortable position. “That’s all I wanted to do. Someone wake me up when it’s over.”

At that, the room seemed to fade into fog, and another memory began to form in the same Wizengamot Chamber. Harry was still trying to wrap his head around everything that he had seen. “My father was the one to nominate you as Chief Warlock?”

The current headmaster nodded. “Yes. Your father insisted that if he was going to have to sit through an entire meeting of the Wizengamot, he wanted to…how did he phrase it? Oh yes, he wanted to be the one to ‘shove it in Malfoy’s pompous face.’”

Harry laughed. “I take it my dad didn’t like the Malfoys either?”

Dumbledore considered this. “He didn’t really know any of them quite as well as you know young Draco. Lucius Malfoy was four or five years older than your father. He did know them by reputation, though.”

Harry nodded at that. Perhaps there was some truth to what Malfoy had said. Perhaps some members of ‘Light Families’ really did discriminate against ‘Dark Families.’ It definitely seemed that Harry’s father was against the Malfoy family by reputation alone. Sirius must have been an exception, but then he was the only Gryffindor in his family.

As the memory became clearer, Harry took the chance to look around. Several Lords and Ladies were once again milling around the main floor of the Chamber. Harry could see the younger Dumbledore seated at the raised dais in the center of the assembly seats. He looked around for his father again, but didn’t see him right away. “My father didn’t seem very interested in politics, sir.”

The present Dumbledore chuckled lightly. “Oh no, not at all. I believe you, Harry, have become far more interested in politics than your father ever was. Although, that may have been more out of necessity than actual enthusiasm for the subject.”

Harry had to agree. “I hate politics. I guess I am pretty interested in the outcome, though. Probably because it always seems to directly involve _me_ in some way.”

Student and headmaster watched as Chief Warlock Dumbledore called the meeting to order, this being the 438th Summer Session in the year 1980. That was the year Harry was born. When Dumbledore asked if anyone had business to bring to the floor, one of the witches on the left side of the room stood with practiced poise. “Chief Warlock,” she intoned.

Dumbledore smiled when his eyes fell on the older woman. “The floor recognizes Dowager Lady Longbottom.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. He almost hadn’t recognized Neville’s grandmother from the one time they had met at St. Mungo’s. Even sixteen years younger, the woman looked just as imposing in her purple robes as she did in her signature stuffed vulture hat. “I move that we open the floor for a vote on the Unforgiveable Bill. We’ve been debating the bill for weeks now, there are no more experts giving testimony. It is time to bring it to a vote.”

The Dumbledore on the dais nodded primly and raised his wand. With a simple wave, and no words required, dozens of scrolls appeared in midair and made their way down to the assembled wizards and witches. “You will all find the full contents of the bill before you,” he explained. “Just to remind everyone, the three curses which will be labeled as Unforgiveable and which will henceforth be completely illegal, even in the case of self-defense, are the Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, and the Avada Kedavra Curse, otherwise known as the Killing Curse. If there are no other questions, we will bring the matter to a vote.”

Once again, the assembly on the right side of the room, where Harry could see Abraxas Malfoy sitting, all tended to vote against the bill. The members on the left side were almost exclusively in favor of the bill. While the wizards and witches in the middle, closest to the Chief Warlock, were a mixed bag. This time it was much harder to tell simply by a show of hands, whether or not the motion had passed.

Once Dumbledore finally finished counting he announced, “It seems the ayes have it. The bill has passed.”

However, before he could bang the gavel, Abraxas Malfoy was on his feet. “Just one moment Dumbledore! I counted the hands, as well. The ayes have nothing. It was a tie, 48 to 48.”

Dumbledore simply gave the current Malfoy Lord a pleasant expression, with that same mischievous twinkle in his eye which Harry knew from experience meant that the older man was quite pleased. “I’m sorry, I distinctly counted 49 to 48.”

Abraxas Malfoy glared. “How is that even possible, when there are only 96 of us here?”

Several members of the assembly began murmuring to themselves, also confused as to where Dumbledore had gotten his numbers. However, the older man showed absolutely no sign of embarrassment. If anything, he looked highly amused. “Ah, I think I can understand your confusion, Lord Malfoy. You see, it is the Potter vote that puts us in the lead.”

The murmuring grew even louder at that. The left hand side sounded curious, while the right hand side sounded furious, and Lord Malfoy was no exception. “The Potter vote? How is that even possible? Lord Potter is not here. He cannot vote if he cannot be bothered to show up.”

As Abraxas Malfoy’s anger rose, so did Dumbledore’s obvious amusement. “Ah yes, I’m afraid James Potter and his wife are a bit indisposed at the moment.” Harry knew that his parents would have been hiding in Godric’s Hollow at that time, thinking themselves safe with the Fidelius Charm. “However, before they went into hiding, James filed the forms naming a Proxy.”

Suddenly the whispers reached their highest level yet. “A Proxy!” “There hasn’t been a Proxy in years…” “Who would James trust enough to hand over his vote to?”

Once again, Dumbledore flicked his wand and one more scroll appeared. This time, it flew straight for Abraxas Malfoy. The man yanked it from the air and scanned it quickly. “James Potter named _you_ as his Proxy!?”

The Dumbledore on the podium smiled and nodded. “He did indeed. Which means that I will be voting for the Potter Family Seat until circumstances change.”

With that new information, the votes were recounted, and it was determined that the ayes did indeed have it. Thus, the Unforgiveable Curses were made unforgiveable. Meanwhile, Harry turned to his headmaster. “What did you mean ‘until circumstances change?’”

The Dumbledore who was standing next to Harry looked just as pleased with the proceedings as the one behind the podium. “Well, my boy, when a Lord assigns a Proxy, it means that another member of the Wizengamot is allowed to vote in their stead, in all matters, until the Proxy status is revoked, or a new Lord takes over that seat. Proxys aren’t very common, because you would need to trust a wizard a great deal in order to give them full access to your vote. Once you come of age, Harry, the Potter Family Seat will automatically pass on to you, and I will no longer be the Proxy.”

The scene around them faded to a foggy grey once again, and slowly a new memory began to form. Dumbledore seemed to be enjoying his trip down memory lane. The headmaster probably also took pleasure in ‘shoving it in Malfoy’s pompous face’ more than he would ever admit out loud.

Harry certainly enjoyed watching it. “What happens when I become Lord Potter, sir?”

“Well, that’s up to you, Harry. You can either leave your vote unused, you can sign over your vote to another Wizengamot member like your father did, or you can attend the Wizengamot sessions yourself and participate in the voting process. Although, that last option might not be feasible in the immediate future, what with school and the war and Voldemort.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “That’s not happening any time soon.” He watched as the Wizengamot Chambers came back into focus. Once again, a purple-clad Dumbledore sat on the raised dais. Harry was still bursting with questions. “But sir, if I sign over my vote, would I be able to get it back later? How would that work?”

“It’s _your_ vote, Harry. If you don’t like how your Proxy is voting, or if you decide you want to become more involved yourself, you can always reclaim your own vote. It’s a rather simple form, I believe. In fact, as the Potter Heir, if you believed that I was not doing an adequate job acting as a Proxy to the previous Lord, you could petition to have me removed. Although, if that is your intention, I would ask you to please give me fair warning first.”

“I really don’t think that would be necessary. I’m sure you’re doing a fine job.”

Harry’s Dumbledore smiled while the one behind the podium called the meeting to order. “Well, my boy, I’m glad I meet with your approval.” They listened to the opening announcements for the 444th Winter Session in the year 1986. Harry would have been living with the Dursleys.

As Harry looked around the room, he noticed that the three sections of members were not nearly as evenly dispersed as in the other memories. Now, the left side and the middle area had far more members than before, and the right side had less than half as many members as in the other memories. When Harry looked amongst the remaining wizards and witches on the right side of the assembly, he saw several recognizable faces.

Abraxas Malfoy was no longer there, but in his stead of the far more familiar face of a youthful Lucius Malfoy. Harry could also make out Crabbe Sr. and Goyle Sr. Harry had never before seen the man who was whispering in Mr. Malfoy’s ear, but he had the same dark hair and pug nose as Pansy Parkinson, so Harry could easily guess which noble house he was representing.

Eventually, things settled down, and the first motion was brought to the floor. This time, it was the Ancient Magic Bill up for a vote. Harry wasn’t familiar with that one, so he asked for clarification. “What’s this bill about, Professor?”

Dumbledore explained, while his counterpart counted votes. “Well Harry, previously to this bill, there were several types of ancient magic which were available for anyone who wished to practice them, such as Blood Magic and Soul Magic. These types of magic were extremely difficult to perform, but they were also extraordinarily dangerous, and often hurt the caster just as much as any potential targets. This bill labeled these types of magic as ‘Dark Arts’ and made them illegal without ministry approval.”

Harry nodded. That seemed pretty reasonable. He wasn’t really sure what ‘Blood Magic’ was, but it certainly didn’t sound pleasant. Once again, the votes came to a tie, but the bill passed because Dumbledore had an extra ace up his sleeve, or rather, an extra vote. Lucius Malfoy looked mutinous, but there wasn’t really anything the man could do.

As the memory began to fade, Dumbledore spoke again. “I’m very sorry Harry, if you were left with the impression that I was taking advantage of your family’s seat. That was certainly never my intension.”

“No, it’s my own fault for listening to anything that came out of Draco Malfoy’s mouth.”

“To be honest, Harry, I may have done you a disservice. I’ve always viewed the Potter vote as James’s vote. I tried to vote the way he would have wanted. When you became Heir, you were just a little baby, and I certainly never considered what your opinion on legislation would be, for obvious reasons. As you got older, I continued casting the Potter vote in a way that James would approve.”

The Wizengamot Chamber came into focus one more time, but Dumbledore kept going. “However, in the last year or two, you have blossomed into a fine young man. And you have become far more entrenched in Wizarding politics than your father ever was, whether you wanted to or not. You will be Lord Potter in less than a year now. I should have started consulting you on what _your_ opinion would be before now. Or at the very least, explaining to you what votes were being cast in your family’s name. I hope you can forgive me.”

“There’s not really anything to forgive, sir. I would have just taken your word for it, anyway. I don’t really know anything about politics.”

The Wizengamot was coming to order yet again, but the two visitors ignored them. Dumbledore looked rather troubled by Harry’s words. “Yes, I suppose I never really got the opportunity to teach you about any of this. I had always been hoping to mentor you in politics once you were of age, if you were interested. I don’t think I’ll have the time to do that, now.”

“Because we’re both so busy with the war?”

“Yes, my boy, exactly. Because of the war.” For a moment, Dumbledore looked significantly older than the version up on the dais.

Harry watched as the members voted another bill into law. This one would make it legal for ministry officials to search private homes to weed out Dark Artifacts if they had reasonable cause. Harry remembered Mr. Weasley searching the Malfoy family home during his second year.

This time when the memory faded, Harry found himself falling upwards and landing back in the headmaster’s office. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that.”

Dumbledore landed with practiced ease on the other side of the desk. “Well, I hope that cleared up any confusion regarding the Potter Family Lordship, Harry. Did you have any other questions?”

“I don’t know, sir. I feel like I have a thousand questions, but I can’t think of any right now. I wish I knew more about this Wizengamot stuff. I feel really unprepared for everything.”

Once again, Dumbledore looked as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “I wish I could spend more time getting you prepared for your role in politics, my boy. However, I feel these lessons of ours would be far better spent by focusing exclusively on Voldemort.” Suddenly, the man’s eyes brightened. “You know, Harry, if you’d like, I can arrange for someone to come and tutor you in Wizarding culture and politics. That way, you’ll be ready if you ever decide to take up the mantel as Lord Potter or Lord Black on the Wizengamot.”

“Lord Black, sir?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, Harry. I’m sure you remember that Sirius named you his heir. You didn’t just inherit Grimmauld Place and a frustrated house elf. You inherited a second seat on the Wizengamot.”

“So, I have _two_ votes?”

“Yes, my boy, and quite an honor that is.” Dumbledore began scooping the memories back into their proper vials. “You’ll also get access to the Black family vault when you turn seventeen, along with the Potter vault, of course.”

“I’ve already been to the Potter vault. It’s pretty neat, I guess.”

Dumbledore gave Harry a bemused look as he corked the vials. “You’ve been to the Potter family vault? How? You shouldn’t be able to access that until you become of age.”

“Hagrid took me when I was eleven.”

Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to sparkle at that. “No, Harry, Hagrid took you to the trust vault that your parents set up for you.” The man turned to make his way back to the cabinet, but he spoke over his shoulder. “I haven’t seen the Potter family vault myself, but I can assure you, that it is much more spectacular than your trust vault.”

“Seriously? Wait, what all did I inherit?”

Dumbledore was setting each vial back in its proper place. “I’m not entirely sure, myself. You know what you should do, Harry? You should go to Gringotts Bank some time before you turn seventeen, and have them do a Blood Inheritance Test.”

Harry was getting overwhelmed. This was a lot of information for one night. “A Blood Inheritance Test?”

“Yes, that will tell you about any Lordships you stand to inherit and any Noble Houses you might be second or third in line for. It will have all the information on both of your Wizengamot seats, and of course, any vaults and fortunes that will be yours.”

Harry had thought the money in his trust vault was a small fortune. He couldn’t imagine what treasures lay in wait in the Potter and Black vaults. “That sounds pretty amazing, Professor.”

“It’s always nice to receive good news in troubled times.” Dumbledore came back and sat in his usual seat behind the desk. “So, shall I arrange for you to start private tutoring in Wizarding politics? Please keep in mind, as you decide, that these Wizengamot lessons should be less of a priority than the private lessons you have with me, and of course, your schoolwork.”

Harry did keep that in mind. He was already swamped after just the first week of classes, and he would have quidditch soon, as well. He really didn’t need any more obligations weighing down on him. He was about to turn down Dumbledore’s offer, when he remembered how offended Malfoy had been at Harry’s lack of decorum on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago. How it had made him an enemy for life, or at least for the next five years. Perhaps he needed lessons after all? Besides, wasn’t he always complaining that no one ever taught him about perfectly normal aspects of Wizarding life? Wasn’t this his chance to finally not be so incredibly ignorant? And didn’t he always wish that he had more control over his own life; more responsibility in the decision-making process? Dumbledore was finally giving him a chance to make that decision.

“I would like to get those lessons, sir. Please make the arrangements if it’s not too much trouble.”

Dumbledore looked down his crooked nose at Harry and smiled like a proud parent. His blue eyes were twinkling like diamonds behind his half-moon spectacles. “Of course, my boy. It’s no trouble at all.” Before he said anything else, the headmaster grabbed the last silvery vial, the one which had been sitting on the desk since Harry had first arrived, and he poured the contents into the pensieve. “Now, Harry, let us return to the matter at hand. This is the memory of Bob Ogden, a ministry official called out to settle a dispute at the house of the Gaunt family.”

“Who’s the Gaunt family, sir?”

Dumbledore winked. “You are about to find out.”


	6. A Room Full of Secrets

That evening, Harry curled up in bed and thought about everything he had learned. Harry’s father had given Dumbledore his Proxy vote, and Dumbledore had used it without consulting Harry’s opinion. Of course, that was all perfectly reasonable. It wasn’t as though Albus Dumbledore was going to seek the political advice of a small child. It seemed as though Dumbledore had done quite a bit of good with the Potter family vote, so Harry certainly wasn’t going to complain.

In fact, Harry might just hand over the Proxy vote to Dumbledore again when he turned seventeen. It wasn’t as though he had time for any of that stuff. However, he’d wait to decide on that until he had a few lessons with his new Wizarding Politics tutor. He was really looking forward to finally having someone teach him all the nuances of the Wizarding World that seemed second nature to people like Ron, who had grown up a part of it.

However, Harry was even more curious about where his lessons with Dumbledore were headed. He didn’t feel like he had learned very much about Voldemort during their lesson, except that insanity clearly ran in his family.

He also doubted he’d ever felt sorrier for any human being than he felt for Merope Gaunt. Voldemort’s mother had clearly drawn the short stick of life. He wondered what Voldemort had inherited from his mother, if anything. Tom Riddle had ended up with his uncle’s bloodlust, his grandfather’s prejudice, his father’s handsome looks, but what had Merope given her son? Harry pondered this mystery as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

***

_When Harry opened his eyes again, he was in a large room that he had visited many times in his nightmares. The dark, cavernous space seemed to glow with an eerie green light, and a quiet drip, drip could be heard in the distance. It was the Chamber of Secrets, and standing before him was the same young man whom Harry had met the one time he had found himself here in real life, Tom Riddle._

_Much like Harry, young Tom Riddle was the spitting image of his father. Now that Harry had actually seen both of Riddle’s parents, the resemblance was uncanny. He could not make out any of Merope’s unfortunate face in Riddle’s handsome visage._

_The young man before him looked almost identical to the memory Harry had encountered in his second year. He had the same dark hair, styled in a perfect curl. The uniform matched the Slytherin robes that the other young man had worn. He even had the same Prefect badge, proudly displayed over his chest. The only difference was his eyes. The memory of Tom Riddle had had dark eyes, difficult to make out the exact color in the dim light of the Chamber. Harry had no trouble at all making out the color of the eyes before him now. They were red. Red as fresh blood, with a narrow slit instead of a human pupil. Voldemort’s eyes._

_Those formidable eyes looked quite jarring on an otherwise perfect face. Was Harry dreaming about Tom Riddle, because of the memory he’d just witnessed, and simply given him Voldemort’s eyes? Or was he dreaming about Voldemort, but in the form of Tom Riddle? Or was this some amalgam of both?_

_Harry’s question seemed to be answered for him when the young man spoke in Riddle’s smooth baritone voice. “Hello Harry. Lovely to see you again, and in such a familiar setting, too.” He sounded just as charming and unthreatening as he had the last time Harry had seen him, that is, until he was calling the Basilisk._

_“What do you want? Was is this? Are you another memory?”_

_Riddle smirked. It was a smirk Harry had seen many times in his worst dreams. “Well, aren’t you in an interrogating mood? This is just another dream, Harry, obviously. You are dreaming. I suppose you could say I was a memory…Perhaps a memory of a dream…or the dream of a memory. Either way, what I want is to ask you a few innocuous questions.”_

_“You can ask whatever questions you like, but I’m not answering anything. There’s nothing innocuous about you.” Harry turned and started looking around the room. Maybe he could find an exit of some kind. Or maybe he should just keep Riddle talking so he doesn’t call the basilisk? That’s what he had done last time to try and buy time. Yes, that was the trick, keep talking and maybe help would come._

***

_Lord Voldemort clasped his hands behind his back and casually glided in a slow circle around his prey. He was a little surprised that the boy’s outburst didn’t frustrate him more. As it had been for weeks, his thoughts and actions all seemed much calmer and more collected now that he was in the world of the dream. He wasn’t sure if he was simply more at peace in his dreams, or if it had to do with his proximity to the soul fragment in the boy’s mind. Either way, when the boy spat that he wouldn’t be answering any questions, he simply smirked with the full confidence that he would get what he wanted before the end of this encounter, regardless of what Harry Potter seemed to think._

_His words came out as smooth as acromantula silk. “Tell me, Harry, what happened the last time you were in these Chambers? What happened to the diary?”_

_The boy looked confused by the question. “Why would you ask that? Don’t you already know?”_

_Again, Lord Voldemort found his temper surprisingly tamed. He didn’t even feel the need to Crucio the boy for daring to question him. “The only part of me that would know what happened down in that chamber, died down there. Now, what happened exactly?”_

_Harry Potter glared, his eyes bursting with defiance. “I defeated the Heir of Slytherin and his monster with a song bird and an old hat.”_

_The smirk widened on Lord Voldemort’s, now quite youthful, face. He had the little Gryffindor now. Severus constantly bemoaned how arrogant and boastful the boy was. If the Dark Lord were to simply pass him a few compliments, Harry Potter would surely be happy to regale his enemy with the story of what the boy probably considered a triumphant defeat. “Really, Harry? That sounds extraordinarily impressive. Why don’t you tell me how you accomplished such an astounding feat?”_

_The boy did not react at all as he had assumed. The defiant glare immediately vanished from his eye, and he looked, if anything, embarrassed. “It wasn’t really much of an astounding feat. I just sort of did what anyone would do. I don’t really want to talk about it, actually.”_

_Was the boy trying to be modest? Was he hoping to garner even further praise by showing humility? This didn’t exactly match the picture of Harry Potter that Severus had painted. Lord Voldemort pressed further. “You defeated an ancient and mighty creature whose scales should have been nigh impervious to magic. I am fascinated to hear what spells you might have cast that could incapacitate a basilisk.” Surely that would stroke his ego._

_It did not. If anything, the boy looked even more miserable. “I really didn’t do anything. I didn’t even cast any magic. I dropped my wand when I found Ginny, and you took it – I mean, Riddle took it. So, I wouldn’t have been able to cast any spells, even if I had had any idea what to do.”_

_Suddenly, Lord Voldemort dropped his façade of false-flattery. He was genuinely shocked. “You defeated the basilisk…without a wand? What did you do!?”_

_To his surprise, the boy actually began to answer the question. However, Harry Potter certainly wasn’t trying to boast about some glorious victory. If anything, he sounded like he was trying to clear up some regrettable misconception._

_The Dark Lord was having trouble merging the idea of the Chosen One Harry Potter that he had in his head, and the awkward young man who was stammering through his story as if he were embarrassed to admit it. Severus had always described the boy as conceited and over-confident, and Lord Voldemort had never had any trouble believing those claims. The boy was always so quick to run into danger and never seemed to cower before him like so many others._

_The boy who now stood in the center of the chamber, did not seem over-confident at all. Many wizards had shivered in fear before Lord Voldemort, but that was not what Harry Potter was doing now. In fact, the boy seemed rather unconcerned about the Dark Lord at the moment, if anything he seemed quite flustered by the situation itself. It was as if he were being asked to explain some embarrassing misunderstanding._

_On and on the boy rambled about the bird pecking out the basilisk’s eyes, and him running in fear, and him begging the hat for help, and then facing down the 60 foot snake with nothing but an antique sword. Throughout the entire explanation, Harry Potter sounded as if he were trying to clear the air. According to the boy, he wasn’t really a hero, he had simply done what anyone would do in similar circumstances._

_Eventually, Harry Potter arrived at a place in the story where he waited until the basilisk opened its jaws to swallow him, and then lunged forward into the snake’s mouth, stabbing it in the gummy flesh, while the basilisk simultaneously bit down on him. Lord Voldemort started to wonder if the boy was delusional, or if he simply had that much unfounded faith in humanity, that he actually believed ‘anyone’ would do the same._

_The boy spoke as if anyone who thought of him as a hero must clearly be confusing him with someone else, and this was all a terrible mix-up, and he was incredibly sorry of any inconvenience. It was as if Harry Potter believed that he ought to have performed more admirably against a one-thousand-year-old, 60 foot basilisk when he was an unarmed 12-year-old._

_“So, anyway, then I had the tooth stuck in my arm, and it hurt like hell, and you were laughing that I was going to die. I didn’t really know what to do, but I knew I wanted to shut you up. So, I took the fang out and stabbed the diary with it. You were pretty pissed for about five seconds until you seemed to crumple up and vanish. That’s it, I think. Oh, and Fawkes cried on my arm to heal it. He’s the real hero, if you ask me. I just stabbed the snake. There wasn’t really a lot else I could have done in the situation.”_

_Lord Voldemort waited a moment, but it seemed the boy was finally finished speaking. “I can think of one or two things that the ‘average’ person may have done, that may differ from what you did.” The Dark Lord stared down at the other young man, who now looked about the same age as himself. Harry Potter just shrugged and didn’t really offer any other comment. He seemed a little relieved, as if he had gotten a weight off his chest; admitting some terrible secret._

_Who was this young man? He was not anything like the boy that the Daily Prophet had written about almost endlessly during the Triwizard Tournament. Of course, Lord Voldemort would know firsthand how inaccurate their reporting tended to be. However, the boy was also not acting the way Severus and Lucius had described him. It seemed that the idea of a spoiled and overly-pampered Golden Boy did not line up with the reality he was being faced with._

_However, there was an even more startling truth that this story had brought to light. Lord Voldemort was having trouble coming to terms with the fact that two of his horcruxes had faced off against each other and one had destroyed the other. He had certainly never seen that as a possible consequence of making so many. Besides, if two of his horcruxes had come to a head, wouldn’t it make more sense that the older horcrux would win, the one with the larger fragment of his soul? How had Harry Potter come out victorious when he only contained a tiny fraction of Lord Voldemort’s soul?_

_Perhaps there was more to the boy’s uncanny luck than just the soul piece trying to keep itself alive. Lord Voldemort had been beside himself when he realized what the boy was, but now that he heard what had happened to another horcrux who tried to destroy the boy, perhaps having a human horcrux, capable of strategizing and casting his own magic, would be incredibly useful. It would make it that much more difficult for his enemies to destroy that fragment of soul._

_However, it would still be easy for Dumbledore, who had almost unlimited access to the boy while he was at school. The Dark Lord needed to get Harry Potter away from Hogwarts and somewhere that he could keep a close eye on him. He needed to check on the Malfoy boy’s progress._

***

Draco Malfoy clutched his left forearm in shock when he felt the mark burn. He had not even had a chance to go down to breakfast yet. He hadn’t expected to be called so early into the term, or so early in the morning. The young man was even more nervous when he apparated to the entryway of his family’s manor, only to discover that the Dark Mark was not guiding him to a location within the manor itself, but to the surrounding grounds. When he felt the skull symbol nudging him toward the quidditch pitch, his mood could not have been bleaker.

Not this again.

The Dark Lord was presiding in the covered area, in a self-summoned throne, with his man-eating snake nearby. No one else was around. It would just be the young Malfoy Heir and the Dark Lord.

“My Lord.” Draco fell to one knee in a deferential bow and waited for the other man to acknowledge his arrival.

“Draco, how good of you to join us for breakfast. Rise.”

Draco did as he was told, but snuck a few surreptitious glances around. He couldn’t see any food, nor had he ever eaten any meal with the Dark Lord. Did the Dark Lord eat breakfast? Did the Dark Lord eat period? “I would be honored to join you for any meal, my Lord.”

The Dark Lord’s face twisted into a cruel smirk. “Indeed? And yet, you have not yet asked what is on the menu.”

Draco swallowed but maintained his perfect composure. “Of course, my Lord. What will we be having?”

The man in the hooded black cloak simply cackled at the presumptuous question. “You misunderstand, Draco. It is not you and I who will be eating.” He raised his bone white wand and pointed it toward the center of the quidditch pitch. Draco turned in time to see two young women jerk up and scream, as if they had been awoken with a sharp pain.

They were dressed as muggles, with heavy boots and cropped blue jeans. They must have been camping in the forest around the grounds when Greyback’s pack had sniffed them out. So, this was happening again.

“Hello?”

“Where are we?”

“Who’s there?”

“Please let us go. We won’t tell anyone.”

The Dark Lord silenced them with another sweep of his wand. The two girls already looked a little worse for wear. Draco wondered what the werewolves had done with them before bringing them to the Dark Lord to finish off, but then quickly squashed that line of thought. The Malfoy Heir focused his attention on his master. He didn’t want to look at the girls. They didn’t look that much older than himself.

“I must congratulate your family, Draco, on the ideal location of their manor. Ever since I removed the muggle-repellant charms, the forest around your grounds has been providing my precious Nagini with a very impressive variety of meals.”

Draco bowed his head. “Thank you, my Lord.”

The Dark Lord whispered a command in the mysterious tongue that only he and his snake could understand, and the beast was off, slowly but purposefully. The Dark Lord smiled fondly at his pet, while giving Draco only the smallest fraction of his attention. “How is your mission going, Draco? Have you befriended Harry Potter yet?”

“Not quite befriended, my Lord. But I am making progress toward that end. I have gotten him to agree to a truce. We are no longer enemies, at least.”

The girls on the pitch seemed to have noticed the giant snake slithering toward them and were slowly backing away. “Look, Draco. One of the muggles has a pronounced limp, while the other is much more mobile. I wonder if it will abandon its friend when my snake starts to attack? I wonder if it will try to help the other or try to save itself.” Draco knew what _he_ would do, and he was pretty sure the muggle would choose the same thing.

Sure enough, when the snake coiled back in preparation for its first strike, the girl with the limp stumbled to the left, while her ‘friend’ took off at a desperate pace toward the right. Draco wondered absently if the snake even had enough room in its belly for two people. Sure, the young women weren’t that big, but they were still adult humans.

Lord Voldemort seemed quite amused with the proceedings. “As expected, the muggle happily betrays its friend for its own means.” Draco tried not to watch the snake turn its attention to the slower girl, while the Dark Lord turned his attention to Draco. “So, you and Harry Potter have a truce? You are no longer enemies? That is not what I asked you to do, Draco. I asked you to befriend him. You have several more steps to go, it seems.”

Draco nodded apologetically. “Yes, my Lord. I am working on it. We are becoming more familiar, my Lord. I…he…he told me about his childhood.”

The slower girl let out a silent scream when the snake easily caught up. Draco really didn’t want to watch her, as the snake struck her with bite after venomous bite. He turned his attention instead to her friend, but the heartbreaking expression on the other girl’s face was possibly worse. The Dark Lord chuckled as if he found this to be the height of entertainment. “What did the boy say about his childhood?”

Draco almost startled, and his attention was suddenly diverted back to the matter at hand. “My Lord, he told me that the muggles who raised him never told him anything about his powers, his parents, or even about you, my Lord.”

“What?” Suddenly, Draco seemed to have all of his master’s attention. Not that the snake was particularly entertaining at the moment. It was taking its time engulfing the muggle. “Tell me everything.”

Draco did. He tried to think of every single thing Potter had told him, which hadn’t been all that much. Potter had needed to repeat the same points over and over, since Draco simply could not comprehend the fact that Harry Potter, of all people, had never had any idea he was famous, or special, or the Boy Who Lived, or even a wizard. Draco had spent his entire childhood hearing stories about Harry Potter. If he was honest with himself, it was part of the reason he was so resentful when he had finally met him. The fact that Potter hadn’t known about any of it, just didn’t sit right with him.

“Then, my Lord, he said that he was told that he got his scar in the car crash that killed his parents. That was all, I believe.”

“Car crash!?” The Dark Lord did not seem happy with this development. Draco wasn’t sure if the dark wizard was upset because his handiwork was being blamed on a common muggle accident or because the boy he was devoted to destroying didn’t even know about him until recently, but he doubted that either realization was improving the man’s mood.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord flicked his wand, and Draco wasn’t proud of the fact that he flinched. Fortunately, the man’s spell went away from the Malfoy Heir and over toward the grassy pitch. A purple flash hit the enlarged snake, whose stomach suddenly shrunk as the contents were vanished. Another command was given, as the Dark Lord pointed toward the other young woman. Apparently, the first prey had been too easy for the dark wizard’s liking. The snake happily began its next pursuit.

The Dark Lord didn’t seem to be paying attention to the snake or Draco and he spoke. “Dumbledore is behind this. The man would want complete control. I should have suspected something like this. He cannot be trusted around my belongings.” Suddenly, he turned to the young Slytherin. “Draco?”

Draco had to force his eyes away from the snake stalking its new prey. He honestly didn’t want to watch it, but it was so hard not to. “My Lord?”

“I have another very important task for you. I need you to fetch something for me. Something of immeasurable value. Something that you will go to retrieve _immediately_ , and return to me _immediately_. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord. It would be an honor.” He kept his attention on his master and tried to ignore the panting and terrified young woman in his peripheral sight.

“Inside Hogwarts, there is a secret room. It only reveals itself to those who are truly worthy. I am not sure if even you will be able to access it, but hopefully if you go under my orders, it will allow you entry. It is one of Hogwarts’ best kept secrets.” Draco was practically salivating in anticipation. This truly did sound like an honor. A secret room that absolutely no one else had heard of? Was it the Chamber of Secrets?

“The room is located on the seventh floor, across the hall from a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.” For a moment Draco’s excitement faded into disappointment. It wasn’t the Chamber of Secrets. It was just the Room of Requirement. He already knew about that. However, then he realized that he, Draco, was already in on what was clearly an important secret. The Dark Lord would be proud that he already knew it.

“Are you familiar with the tapestry, Draco?”

Draco practically preened. “My Lord, I am familiar with both the tapestry and the room. It is called the Room of Requirement, I believe, or the Come and Go Room.”

It happened without warning. Suddenly Draco was on the floor, screaming in pain, with the Dark Lord’s pale wand pointed on him. “What do you mean you know the room!? How do you know that room? Who else knows of the room?”

Draco couldn’t answer. He was too busy screaming. His whole world was reduced to just himself and the pain he felt. Nothing else registered or mattered. His skin was surely melting away. His bones were on fire. His veins pumped molten lead. His muscles were all being stabbed by dull knives. How could anything be this painful and not kill him? And then it ended.

Draco lay gasping and sputtering on the ground, his clothes and hair completely disheveled. His muscles were still throbbing, and his throat was raw. How long had it been? It had felt like an eternity.

“Stand, Draco. That was hardly a punishment. That was barely ten seconds.” Ten seconds? That couldn’t be right, could it? Of course, Draco had only felt the cruciatus curse once before. His Aunt Bellatrix had insisted he ‘toughen up.’ He hadn’t handled it well then, either. Neither had his mother when she found out.

He tried to get back onto his feet but was shaking too badly. He managed to push himself up onto his knees at least. “I told you to stand, Draco. Will you disobey a direct order?”

Draco wasn’t sure how he could possibly comply. He tried with every last ounce of energy he had to force his legs to hold his weight. It was not elegant. He looked like death warmed over, but at least he was on his feet.

“Now, tell me Draco, where did you hear of that room?”

“Potter.” His voice was so dry from the screams, it hurt to speak.

“Harry Potter? What do you mean? Harry Potter told you about the secret room?”

“Potter was teaching defensive magic to a bunch of students last year. They used that room.”

The Dark Lord scowled. “Do you mean Dumbledore’s Army? I thought Dumbledore was teaching defensive magic? That is why he was fired, was it not?” Suddenly the red eyes seemed to glow. “Does Dumbledore know of that room!?!”

Draco took a deep breath. He was sure this would end with him back on the ground. “Potter was the one teaching. He was running Dumbledore’s Army. Dumbledore didn’t even know it was happening until they were all caught. I overheard the Ravenclaw Prefects talking about it; Anthony Goldstein and Padme Patil. They were in it. Potter found the room. I don’t know how. He taught them defensive spells and advanced Light Magic like the Patronus Charm. They all know about the room now, and I’m sure they told others. Dumbledore has known since the club was discovered.”

Draco was right. He did end up back on the ground, screaming in agony. Apparently, the Dark Lord did not subscribe to the philosophy: don’t shoot the messenger. When the pain finally receded, his violent spasms continued for almost a minute. He wondered if his muscles would ever feel the same again.

When he looked up again, the Dark Lord was peering down at him with a disgusted expression, and his snake was at his side, looking very full and satisfied. Apparently, Draco had missed it catching the second girl. He had been a bit preoccupied.

“Listen to me, Draco. I am going to give you very specific instructions as to where this item is located and exactly what it looks like. You are going to go and fetch it. If you fail in this task for any reason, or if the item in question is no longer there, you will join me for breakfast again tomorrow, and you will play a much more active role in the proceedings.”

***

Harry frowned when he felt the warm sun on his face, peeking through the crack in the curtains of his four poster. He squinted as the light fell into his eyes, and tried to turn over onto his other side. But it was too late. He was already awake now. He pulled the curtain aside just enough to grab his glasses and wand from the bedside table and then cast a quick Tempus charm. It was much later than he thought. He had already missed breakfast.

Harry wondered what had caused him to sleep in so much later than usual. He rarely slept in much, even on a Sunday, like today. He wondered why Ron never woke him up. A soft rumble from the bed beside him answered that question quickly enough. Harry yanked his curtains all the way open to see his best friend sound asleep in the crimson red bed next to his.

It shouldn’t have surprised him that Ron was still out. Harry was almost always the one to wake his friend on the weekends, usually with the promise of food. Hermione had probably given up on waiting for them and gone about her day. Harry had no doubt he would find her in the library. However, he really didn’t want to deal with either of his friends just yet.

His mind was still on the dream from the night before, the dream with Tom Riddle. Why did he keep dreaming about Voldemort? Sure, this one had been his younger self, but it had felt similar to the other dreams. Was he communicating with Voldemort? Did he need to start practicing occlumency again? Were they just regular nightmares? Why wasn’t his scar hurting at all? Last year, it would flare up almost daily.

Harry really wanted to find answers, and he was half inclined to go to the library just to look up information on dreams. Unfortunately, he doubted he’d be able to find what he wanted without Hermione’s help, and he really didn’t want to ask her. She’d just tell him he needed to go to Dumbledore and tell the headmaster about the dreams, but Harry didn’t want to waste anyone’s time if he was just having weird nightmares. These dreams really didn’t feel like the ones he had had the last two years.

If only there was a way he could just ask the library itself to give him all the books it had on dreams, or mental connections, or anything like that. Too bad it didn’t work that way. Harry remembered how convenient the DA headquarters had been, simply filling itself with shelf upon shelf of different defensive magic.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. What if he went to the Room of Requirement instead of the library? Then, he could ‘request’ the room to fill itself with the specific books he needed. That would save a lot of time, without needing to resort to admitting to Hermione exactly why he was looking into this area of research. If he found anything at all to be concerned about, he could always go to his friends or the headmaster with the information he’d found. Surely, they couldn’t scold him too badly for taking the initiative of looking into the matter on his own.

Harry flopped out of bed, showered as quickly possible, and practically ran to the seventh floor corridor. It wasn’t far from Gryffindor Tower, and before he knew it, he was pacing three times in front of a blank stretch of wall he was very familiar with. When the door appeared, Harry wasn’t entirely sure what he would find on the other side. As he walked inside and saw what the room had become, his jaw dropped. 

It was enormous. Larger than he had ever seen the room before. Yet, there was barely room to walk. Stacked as far as the eye could see were…things. There was junk everywhere. The entire room seemed to consist of towering stacks of anything and everything a person could possibly imagine, with a few narrow pathways in between, barely wide enough for one person to slip between the detritus. How was this helpful? Where would he even begin to look for what he needed?

Harry crept into the cavernous space as if in a trance. There were trunks full of Merlin-knew-what. There were countless shelves of books, old junk, and magical objects. He passed a coat rack which held a frayed and half-visible invisibility cloak that looked rather the worse for wear. Nothing like his cloak.

He passed a table which held a silver tea set. One of the cups kept trying to chase the sugar dish around the tarnished tray, but the empty sugar dish kept dodging behind the tea pot, having already spent all of its contents.

He passed an old suit of armor which was missing an entire leg, and was only able to stand by desperately gripping onto its halberd with both gauntlets. There seemed to be no end to the strange, misplaced things Harry passed.

Again, Harry wondered why the Room would bring him here. How was he supposed to find the books he needed? Just as that thought occurred to him, he turned a corner, and there they were. There were three shelves full of books with titles like: ‘Dream Interpretation: Seeing Into the Beyond,’ ‘The Theory of Mind Magic,’ and ‘Entering the Mind of Others Through Dreams.’ This was exactly what he needed.

Some of the titles sounded very sketchy, even bordering on Dark Arts. There was one called ‘Gaining Power Over Others by Influencing Their Dreams.’ That certainly didn’t sound good. Perhaps that was why the Room of Requirement had brought him here. The entire space seemed filled with dodgy objects of a more questionable nature. Maybe this was where the Room kept its dark secrets.

Harry had already filled his bag with four books, when he heard a familiar voice around a corner. “This is ridiculous! How am I supposed to find anything in all this mess?”

Harry’s ears perked up. That was Draco Malfoy’s voice. What was Malfoy looking for? Surely it was something dark and dangerous. Harry wished he had his cloak, so he could stalk after the Slytherin unseen, but perhaps if Harry followed along at a distance, he wouldn’t be noticed.

Snatching up his bag, Harry tried to sprint as quietly as possible in the direction of the voice, only to run right into the speaker in question. “Oomph!” The air was knocked out of him, as Harry barely managed to stay on his feet. Malfoy wasn’t quite as lucky. The blonde crashed backward into a pile of moldy rubber boots. So much for going unnoticed.

“Potter!” Malfoy looked absolutely terrified to see his old rival. It reminded Harry of Draco’s shocked and confused manner when they ran into each other at Madam Malkin’s. What was Malfoy up to this time? What did he not want Harry to find? “What in Salazar’s name are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

Malfoy looked so pale and small. “I’m…not doing anything. I simply…got lost.”

“Of course you did. Well, if that’s the case, then I’m sure you don’t mind leaving.”

“I can’t leave, I need to…” Malfoy looked so torn, like he was trapped between two insurmountable obstacles. “Why are you here, anyway? Why don’t _you_ just leave?”

“I’m not leaving, I need to find something.”

Harry was shocked to see that Malfoy’s skin could get whiter. “You’re looking for something? Here? What…what are you looking for?”

“None of your bloody business.” Harry clutched his bag tightly. He didn’t even want Ron and Hermione to know he was looking into these strange dreams. He definitely wasn’t going to tell Malfoy about it.

Malfoy seemed to notice that Harry had glanced surreptitiously at the book shelf. When Malfoy’s eyes landed on the books, they instantly filled with relief. Whatever Malfoy was trying to hide from Harry, it wasn’t a book. When the grey eyes scanned the titles, a smirk appeared on his thin lips. “Mind Magic? Controlling dreams? Gaining mental influence over others? What are you up to, Potter?”

“Again, none of your bloody business.”

Malfoy strode forward, now much more confident that he had a better idea of why Harry was there, and he grabbed a text from one of the shelves. “I’m impressed Potter. I never would have guessed you’d show any interest in Mind Magic. It’s considered Dark, you know.”

“I didn’t know that, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not interested. I was just…curious.”

Malfoy set the book back on the shelf and grabbed another one. “Indeed? Well, I’d recommend this one.” He handed Harry a book titled ‘How the Mind Influences Magic and How Magic Influences the Mind.’

Harry gave the other boy a skeptical look and made no move to grab the book. “You don’t even know what I’m curious about. How would you have any idea what to recommend?”

Malfoy just shrugged. “It’s a useful book. If this is a topic you’re actually _curious_ about, I’d recommend reading this one.” Harry hesitated for one more moment, before snatching the book from Malfoy’s grasp. If it really was a useful book, it couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Thanks,” he grumbled more out of habit than actual gratitude.

“How about we make a deal, Potter?” Harry’s mind went on high alert, ready for a trap. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you here, looking into…questionable content, and you don’t tell anyone you saw me here. Deal?”

“No way.” Harry shook his head in earnest. “How do I know you won’t break that deal and tell all your little friends behind my back?”

“Because if word got around to you that I had done that, you’d be able to tell everyone that you saw me here.”

“So what? Who cares? What are you doing here anyway?”

Malfoy had been looking much more like himself, but at the question, his nervousness started to peak through again. “The same thing as you. I’m looking for something.”

“Yeah, obviously. What are you looking for?”

“As you so eloquently put it, Potter, none of your bloody business.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Alright, Malfoy, I _will_ make a deal with you. You saw what I was looking for, so now you’ve got dirt on me. You show me what you’re looking for, and we’ll both swear not reveal the other person’s secret. Otherwise, I’ll do everything in my power to figure out what the hell you were up to, and I’ll tell everyone anyway.” Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep Malfoy’s secret, even if he did discover what the blonde was hiding, but he was really curious now. Did it have to do with the mysterious object he purchased at Borgin and Burkes?

Malfoy looked like he really didn’t want to take that deal, but he clearly didn’t have much of a choice. “Fine. I’m not telling you anything, but I suppose you can come with me while I look for it. Will that suffice?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, ok.”

The two young men made their way silently through the stacks upon stacks of discarded objects. Harry was a little surprised that Malfoy was having so much difficulty finding whatever it was he wanted. Harry merely had to think about what he wanted to find, and it had conveniently been right around the corner. Perhaps the item was charmed so that it wasn’t so easily found.

The longer they walked without any sign of what Malfoy was looking for, the more nervous the little ferret seemed to become. Harry was quickly losing patience. “Are you sure that whatever you’re looking for is even here?”

Malfoy looked startled at the very implication. “It has to be here. It just…it _has_ to be.” There was something almost desperate in Malfoy’s tone that didn’t sit well with Harry.

This was getting unnerving. To try to relieve some of the tension, Harry tried to change the subject. “So, how was detention without me?”

Malfoy looked a little relieved by the distraction. “It was postponed. Professor Snape said: ‘Potter has decided that he has better things to do with his time than mere punishment, so he will not be able to attend his own detention this weekend. Despite Potter’s best efforts to waste my time, I will not be spending two Saturday evenings watching over unruly children. You will sit your detention next week, when Potter’s schedule frees up enough to allow for one evening of discipline.’” Malfoy shrugged. “Or, I don’t know, it was something like that.”

Harry snorted. Malfoy could do a hilariously accurate impersonation of the cranky dungeon bat. “That does sound like something he’d say.”

Malfoy gave him a quizzical look. “What were you doing that got you out of a detention with Snape?”

Harry carefully considered how to answer that. They passed pile after pile of broken, dangerous, or hexed objects. There was a wizard chess set which was ganging up on its own king. There was a pile of broken and worn out wands. There was an eerie-looking doll that seemed to watch them as they passed by.

Finally, Harry settle on the truth, since he couldn’t think of anything else. “I was with Dumbledore.” He wasn’t really supposed to tell anyone about his private lessons, so he just left it at that.

“Did you tell him to keep his crooked nose out of your business and stay the hell away from your vote?”

“Not really. More like…the exact opposite of that.”

Malfoy scowled. “You know he stole your vote, right? He’s been using it to pass all sorts of ridiculous legislation for years.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “He didn’t steal anything. My father made him a Proxy.”

“Yes, but you’re the Heir now. You could fight to oust him. I could even give you the exact forms you’d need to fill out.”

“Don’t bother, Malfoy. I’ve seen some of the ‘ridiculous legislation’ Dumbledore’s been pushing through. I think he’s doing a great job as Proxy.”

The blonde simply scowled. “You would.”

They walked on, deeper into the expanse of hidden wonders. They passed a vase with a shriveled plant that smelled like rotten eggs. They passed a crystal ball that was entirely blacked out, with the occasional flash of what looked like lightning. They passed an overstuffed armchair that looked as though it might literally swallow up any person who tried to sit in it.

The longer they walked in silence, the more desperate Malfoy seemed to become that they might not find whatever it was he was looking for. Harry tried to lighten the mood again. “You know, Malfoy. I think I might owe you an apology, as well.”

Malfoy gave him a suspicious look. “What for? What did you do now?”

Harry tried not to let Malfoy’s suspicion get to him. “That’s not what I meant. Look, I just realized that you may have had a point.” Malfoy looked like he was about to interrupt, so Harry plowed on through. “When we met on the train. You thought I was being prejudiced against you because you were from a ‘Dark Family’ or whatever. I wasn’t, but now I guess I can see why you would think that. I guess I may have insulted you without realizing it. So, sorry for that, I suppose.”

Malfoy gave a stiff nod. “It was my own fault. I knew you were raised by muggles, so I should have just assumed that you wouldn’t have any manners at all. I should have been more understanding. I’m sorry.”

Harry gaped at the slimy Slytherin git. Of course Malfoy would insult someone while simultaneously trying to apologize to them. “Whatever.”

They rounded another corner, striding past more and more accumulated junk. Malfoy’s mood seemed to have lightened significantly. Apparently, Harry had thoroughly distracted him from the task at hand. “So, we’re even, then?”

Harry came to an abrupt halt. “What? No! You think that makes us even? Yes, I was a bit short with you when we met, but then you spent five bloody years making my life shite. We’re not even, not by a long shot.”

Malfoy’s mood instantly soured. “Well, I don’t know what you want me to do about that.”

“I don’t want you to do anything! Let’s just get your stupid whatever and leave and never talk to each other again. Sound good?”

The other boy didn’t answer. He simply stormed forward with even more determination to find his hidden treasure. Harry had to jog to catch up with him. As Harry rounded another corner, he almost ran into the blonde for the second time within an hour. Malfoy had skidded to a halt, his eyes on a large bureau about ten feet ahead of them.

“Oh Merlin! Oh, thank Salazar it’s still there!” Malfoy seemed to have completely forgotten Harry’s presence. He sounded so relieved, as if he had just been reprieved from the gallows. Harry followed Malfoy’s line of sight to try and figure out what would bring the other boy so much joy.

There, on top of the chest of drawers, in between an antique tiara and a large, burgundy hatbox, sat the ugliest bust Harry had ever seen. It didn’t look particularly remarkable, just a marble bust of some old wizard with a big nose and squinty eyes. “You made all that fuss over some stupid bust? What’s so special about that thing?”

Malfoy seemed to jump out of his skin, as if he had only just remembered Harry was next to him. “What? Oh, the bust. Yes, it’s a very important bust. You’d better not tell anyone I was looking for it.”

Harry was bemused. “I don’t get it. Why were you so worried about some bust of some old wizard? Who is he anyway?”

Malfoy strode forward and slowly lifted the bust, careful not to disturb the items next to it. He seemed deep in thought for a moment. “He’s…a relative of mine.”

“Oh yeah, I can see the resemblance.”

“Sod off.” Malfoy didn’t seem too annoyed, though. He just looked so relieved to have found what he was looking for. Not that it had been much of an insult anyway. The old man didn’t share a single feature of Malfoy’s aristocratic face. If they were related, it must have been very distant.

While Malfoy inspected his long lost relative, Harry looked around at the other objects in the little clearing. There was a pile of manacles that looked like they were just waiting for someone to ensnare. There was a frame with a painting that was slashed up. Clearly, whoever had previously sat in the portrait had long since run off. There was a large cabinet that stood slightly ajar. Harry thought he felt a breeze coming from within, but when he opened the door to check, there was nothing inside.

“I wouldn’t mess with that if I were you. That thing’s broken.” Harry turned back toward Malfoy who had already stowed his new bust in his backpack and was slinging it over his shoulder. Harry never noticed that the bureau was missing more than one item.

“Great. Well, a deal’s a deal. I won’t tell anyone about your ugly old relative; you don’t tell anyone about my extracurricular reading. Good bye, Malfoy.” Harry turned to put as much distance between himself and the blonde as possible.

Before he could make it three steps, however, Malfoy leapt beside him. “Wait. I still want to make it up to you.”

“Make what up to me?”

Malfoy sighed. “My poor treatment of you. You’re right, I acted quite rudely toward you. Let me make it up to you.” Harry wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. He tried to walk as quickly as he could in the direction they came, but Malfoy easily kept pace. “If you’re interested in books on dark or ancient magic, there are some pretty amazing spells I could teach you. Things that could really wipe the floor with your opponent.”

Harry tried to keep his voice even. If Malfoy really was trying to play nice, he didn’t want to upset whatever peace they had going. “No thanks, Malfoy. I don’t want to learn the Dark Arts. Just forget it.”

They were already passing that creepy doll. The way back seemed much faster than how they got in. “Well, if not the Dark Arts, how about Potions? I’m one of the best at Potions, and it’s always been one of your worst subjects.”

Harry chuckled. That certainly had been true before, and maybe under different circumstances Harry would have actually taken Malfoy up on the offer. However, with Harry’s new potion’s text, he had a feeling that the class was going to go very differently this year. “No thanks, Malfoy. I think I have all the help I need in Potions.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Oh yes, you were doing much better this week than you usually do. How did you manage to win that Felix Felicis, anyway? Did you somehow switch cauldrons with Granger?”

“No, I’m just taking my classes more seriously this year. I want to be an auror, after all. I need a NEWT in Potions to do that.”

It was Malfoy who came to an affronted halt this time. “You want to be an auror? Why? I mean, obviously you _would_ be just the type to want to catch dark wizards. But why waste everything else you have going for you?”

Harry wasn’t sure what Malfoy was talking about. “What do you mean? What else do I have going for me?”

Malfoy looked almost offended by that question. “Are you joking? You have everything going for you! You’re the Potter Heir. You’re rich, you’re famous. Everyone knows your name. You’re the ‘Chosen One,’ the Boy-Who-Lived, Champion of the Light side. You’re going to inherit a seat on the Wizengamot before you even graduate school. You could go into politics right out the gate. Any department in the Ministry would beg to take you. Just think what a difference you could make with that level of influence. A lot more than running around catching dark wizards one at a time.”

Harry considered that. He had never really liked the idea of getting involved in politics, but there was some truth to the words Professor Dumbledore had said in the memory. ‘There are many things in this world that can _only_ be accomplished by people sitting in a room and talking.’

“Maybe I could get involved with that Wizengamot stuff later. I do have two votes, after all.”

“Two votes!? How do you possibly have two votes?”

“Sirius Black was my Godfather. He left me the Black seat when he passed. I’m the Black Heir and the Potter Heir.”

They did end up finding their way to the exit much quicker than it took them to find Malfoy’s stupid bust. The entire way back, Malfoy questioned Harry about how he could have ended up with the Black inheritance when Draco was the eldest Black male descendant (on his mother’s side).

Harry wasn’t really sure how he, himself, was related to the Blacks, since he didn’t know any of his family tree. As far as he knew, all his wizarding relatives were long gone. But then, his father had been a pureblood, so surely he was related to some other Pureblood families. The Weasleys had said all the purebloods were inter-married.

Malfoy was pondering a mystery of his own. “I wonder who would have become the next Lord or Lady Black if he didn’t pass it on to you? Aunt Bellatrix or me?”

Harry watched the door to the hidden room seal shut behind him and was only too happy to end this conversation. “Sirius probably would have passed it on to Tonks, or her mum. You know, the cousins you don’t like to talk about?”

“Oh yes, I’d forgotten about her.”

Harry scowled. “How did you forget about her? You just saw her a week ago.” Harry made sure his bag was secure and began striding away. “You know what Malfoy? You’re not going to change. Thanks for the apology and all that, but please don’t try to make it up to me or whatever. There’s nothing I want from you.” He had to yell to be heard as he reached the end of the hall, leaving Malfoy in his wake. “Let’s just move on and try not to speak to each other again for the next year, agreed?”

He didn’t wait for any response. He turned the corner and left the other boy standing all alone. With any luck, that would be the end of his interactions with Malfoy for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for all the really encouraging comments.
> 
> If you have any thoughts about how the story is going, what you think will happen, what you'd like to happen, or ideas for how to improve; please feel free to share!


	7. The Rules of the Game

The next week of class continued much like the first. Homework was piling up like never before. It seemed that all the teachers now expected non-verbal magic for all practical classwork. Harry had eventually managed to produce a weak shield by the next Defense lesson, but it was nothing like his usual Protego. He felt that all of his spellwork had taken a deep dive once he was expected to perform magic without an actual incantation.

At least the rest of his year mates were all having the same problem. He was pretty sure Crabbe and Goyle hadn’t managed a single spell once they were no longer able to grunt the words. Even Hermione had switched from theoretical texts to reading practical guides offering an introduction to non-verbal magic. It was one of the first times Harry and Ron had listened avidly while she read out loud during lunch. Neville, Parvati, and Lavender had also sat as close to them as possible, to try and glean as many useful hints as they could get. 

By Wednesday, Harry was ready for a break from spell casting, and was looking forward to an afternoon on the Quidditch Pitch. He walked down to the stadium, Firebolt in hand, with Ron at his side. Ginny and Dean Thomas were behind them. The two of them would be practicing chasing the quaffle, while Ron practiced his keeping skills. Everyone wanted to hone their abilities before tryouts that weekend.

Hermione took up the rear, with her bag full of books. She was just coming along to show her support. Although, Harry suspected she probably wanted some fresh air, as well. It probably got pretty stuffy being in that library all the time.

As soon as they reached the field, however, Harry realized the girl may have had an ulterior motive for coming along. Harry had just released the quaffle for Ginny, Dean, and Ron, who were already soaring after it. He was about to release the snitch, when Hermione stopped him. “Just a moment, Harry. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a bit. Now that we’re alone.”

Harry gave her a skeptical look and his eyes went up to the three figures gliding over by the goal posts. “Are we alone?”

“Well, they’re not exactly listening.”

Harry watched Ginny and Dean pass the large red ball back and forth while Ron darted through the circular hoops ready to make a quick save. They all seemed rather distracted. “Fair point. So, what’s up?”

Hermione set down her bag and pulled it open. Harry gaped at the books inside; there must have been at least ten thick textbooks. The young woman must have placed at least half a dozen featherlight charms on that thing just to be able to lift it. She pulled out a particularly large tome to show to Harry. It didn’t surprise him that Hermione wanted to talk about a book, and he almost groaned until he saw the title across the cover. ‘The History and Traditions of Britain’s Wizengamot.’ A large smile spread over Harry’s face. “You finished it?”

Hermione handed the book over for Harry to peruse. “I finished it a week ago, but I never really got the chance to talk to you about it. I know you asked us not to bring up the subject when Ron was around, since he’s been so peculiar about the whole thing. I figured I could talk to you while they were distracted.”

Apparently, the three Quidditch players weren’t quite as distracted as they thought. Just then, Ginny swooped overhead and called down. “Harry, what’s up? Are you practicing or not?”

Harry held the book to his chest to hide the title, although it wasn’t really Ginny that he was worried about. “Yeah, Hermione’s just giving me some homework advice real quick. I’ll be up in a little bit. You guys go ahead and practice. You don’t need me anyway, I’d just be doing my own thing.”

Ginny shrugged. “Alright, but if you don’t want to practice, you should let someone else ride that racing broom of yours.” She flew down so she was almost eye level. “I wouldn’t mind having a go.”

Harry waved her off. “I’ll be up in a bit. You just focus on your own performance. This is practice for tryouts, after all.” The redhead finally flew off to the others, probably to relay why Harry wasn’t up in the air with them. Harry noticed that Hermione was blushing at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” she insisted. She gave herself a little shake and then moved next to Harry to show him something in the book. “Anyway, I found all sorts of interesting things in here. These pages list all the families that have a Lordship on the Wizengamot. Potter is here, and so is Black, like you said.”

Harry had mentioned the Black Lordship to his friends, but had tried to downplay the significance for Ron’s sake. Instead, Harry had made a show of complaining about having yet another responsibility, and having to take another class on weekends with some random tutor. Having extra work seemed to make Ron commiserate with him instead of getting jealous, but Harry still didn’t want to push his luck. The Wizengamot situation was clearly a sore subject for the youngest Weasley boy, who would probably inherit very little if anything from his own family.

Harry read through the list of names in the book. He could see Dumbledore, Longbottom, and Malfoy. He turned the page as the list continued. There was Potter and Prewitt. He even saw Shacklebolt, and he wondered if Kingsley had a vote, or if it was one of his relatives. “These are a lot of names. Are all these people on the Wizengamot?” This seemed like more people than Harry had seen in Dumbledore’s memories.

“There are about two hundred families that technically have a Lordship, however a lot of them are unclaimed. Either the relative who would be the Lord never claimed the title, or there are no more Heirs left to claim it and the family tree just died out.”

Harry turned the page again and saw another list, this one much shorter. At the bottom of this list was the name: Weasley. “What’s this?”

Hermione glanced over his shoulder to see what he was referring to. “Oh, that’s the list of families who used to have a Lordship, but it was revoked for one reason or another.”

Harry looked over the list more closely and saw another familiar name: Gaunt. “So, Voldemort’s family used to have a Lordship.” It didn’t really surprise him that they had lost it. He tried to imagine Morfin Gaunt attending a Wizengamot session while holding his bloody knife and a beheaded snake. The Gaunts didn’t exactly fit the ideal of pureblooded politicians.

“Hermione! Hey, Hermione!” She and Harry looked up to see Ron waving the quaffle over his head with a big grin on his face. Ginny was pouting nearby. “Did you see that save, Hermione? Harry, did you catch it? I’m definitely making the team this year.”

“Yeah, that was great, Ron!” Harry yelled back, having no idea what Ron had done to catch the quaffle, but assuming it must have been impressive for the boy to try that hard to get their attention.

“Yes, it was absolutely spectacular!” Hermione called in agreement. “You’re going to be fantastic this Saturday!”

Harry lowered his voice. “Did you actually see what he did?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I barely pay attention to these things when there _isn’t_ a book in front of me.”

Harry snorted and turned his looked back to the book in question. “So, did you figure out how they vote in new laws and things? Also, how do trials work? Do they run them any differently than regular meetings?”

Hermione flipped ahead several pages to a chapter titled ‘Special Committees.’ “So, this is really important.” She had switched to her ‘teacher’ tone of voice. “The Wizengamot has several Special Committees, such as the Committee for Magical Creatures, the Committee for Schools and Education, the Committee for Health and Healing Standards, etc. Once you join the Wizangamot, then you can petition to get on one of these Special Committees. You apply, and if they think you know enough about that subject or have enough invested in that cause, they can vote you onto the committee.”

She flipped another couple pages to show him the full list of committees. There were a lot. “Each committee is made up of members of the Wizengamot, but then it also has some experts in that field. So, the Committee for Health and Healing Standards would have several Wizengamot members, but also some officials from the Ministry Department for Health Regulations, and then probably several respected healers and health researchers, and even some members of the St. Mungo’s Board of Directors. The Special Committees are a pretty big deal. They make most of the laws.”

Harry looked up at that. “I thought the Wizengamot made all the laws.”

Hermione nodded. “The Full Wizengamot probably makes most of the big, important laws. But most laws, in general, only affect a small branch. So, let’s say there was a new bill about broomstick manufacturing regulations. Most people probably wouldn’t care about that. It would go before the Committee for Magical Transportation, and it would either pass or it wouldn’t. No one else would care. Let’s say there was a bill about which brooms could be ridden in official quidditch games. That would go before the Committee for Magical Games and Sports, and no one else would probably care.

“However, let’s say someone wanted to push through a bill to make Firebolts illegal.” Harry subconsciously reached down for the broom leaning against his leg, as Hermione continued her terrifying hypothetical. “Obviously, that would upset a lot of people. So, that bill would probably be pushed to go before the entire Wizengamot. Almost all bills begin in one of the Special Committees, but if they get enough attention, or if they upset someone, then they can be brought before the entire Wizengamot, and the full session can vote on it.

“That’s what happens with trials, as well. Most smaller trials take place before a Special Committee. Buckbeaks’s hearing was before the Committee for Magical Creatures. Your trial was supposed to be before the Committee for Child Welfare and Underage Magic. However, at the last minute, it was pushed before the entire Wizengamot. That’s why it was so strange. I don’t think there’s ever been a case of underage magic going before the entire Wizengamot like that.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I do tend to be the exception that proves the rule.”

Suddenly, Ginny swooped down next to them again. “Are you sure you’re practicing, Harry? Ron won’t stop bragging every time he makes a semi-impressive save. It would be nice to have another pair of eyes on the situation.”

Harry just waved her off again. “I swear, just one more minute. I’ll be right there.”

“Fine, but don’t expect me to believe you again, you little liar….Just one minute my arse!”

She flew off again, and Harry turned his attention back to Hermione who had a devilish grin on her face. “I don’t even want to know what you’re smiling about this time.” The bushy haired girl just shrugged. “So, if I became a Lord, would I have to join one of these Special Committee things?”

“Not necessarily. Some Wizengamot members seem to just have one area that they’re really passionate about, so they just join the one Special Committee. Other Wizengamot members are very active and want to be involved in lots of areas of politics, so they join lots of Special Committees. I think Dumbledore is a member of several, and it wouldn’t surprise me if someone like Lucius Malfoy had been on a lot of committees, as well.” Harry nodded, that sounded in character for him. “However, some people don’t join any committees. In fact, some Wizengamot members hardly even show up for the regular sessions. They only attend when there’s something they really care about.” Harry figured that his father would have fit in the latter category.

He wondered what type of member he would be when his Lordship fell into his lap next summer. Joining a committee and helping to draft policy sounded interesting. If he joined the Committee for Magical Games and Sports, he could make laws about Quidditch. If he joined the Committee for Magical Law Enforcement, he could pass laws that would help the aurors do their jobs. Of course, he didn’t even know how he would possibly have time to attend the regular sessions, let alone any Special Committee meetings.

Finally, Harry was literally pulled from the conversation, when Ginny returned to drag Harry into the air. “You’re never going to be able to Captain the team if you’re out of practice. I’ll release the snitch, you see if you can catch it in under five minutes.”

Harry rolled his eyes but allowed the smaller girl to shove him onto his broom before he pushed off into the air. He closed his eyes as the wind whipped past his face and he tried to forget about the war, and Voldemort, and the Wizengamot, and Malfoy, and the pile of homework waiting in his room, and everything else weighing on his mind.

For the next couple hours, it was just Harry, his broom, and the little golden snitch, and it was glorious.

***

As much as Harry enjoyed Quidditch itself, try-outs were a nightmare. It seemed that half of Gryffindor house showed up, even several first years, probably just so they could spend the afternoon with the ‘Chosen One.’

It took almost four hours before Harry was able to weed them down to a decent team. Ginny and Katie Bell would be chasers again, but Dean Thomas didn’t quite make the cut. Ron had once again secured his place as keeper, barely out-performing the obnoxious seventh-year, Cormac McLaggen. Harry suspected that Hermione had something to do with that, despite her claims that she ‘barely paid attention’ to the game.

By the time things finally wrapped up, Harry had missed dinner and he barely had time to race to Snape’s office in the dungeons for his detention. As Harry skidded to a halt in front of the foreboding door, he cast a quick tempus to make sure he wasn’t late. 8:01. Dammit. Well, there was nothing he could do about that now. He quickly rapped on the door, before he was another minute late.

The door swung open before Harry could even finish knocking, and the looming figure of Severus Snape filled the door frame. “Nice of you to fit this into your schedule, Mr. Potter. Is there a reason you’re wearing Quidditch robes for detention, or did you actually believe that I would assign you laps around the field?”

“No, professor. I only just came from Quidditch try-outs.” Harry squeezed past the shadowy figure and into the torch-lit office that always seemed to smell of noxious fumes, even though the man wasn’t teaching potions anymore. Malfoy was already sitting in front of Snape’s desk.

The bat-like figure of Severus Snape swooped past Harry and made his way to his own leatherback seat. His midnight black robes billowed behind him as they always did. He gestured for Harry to take the remaining seat. “If only your Quidditch captain had had the foresight and decency to schedule the try-outs at a time that wasn’t directly before the star seeker had somewhere to be. Oh, but I apologize. You are the Quidditch captain, are you not? Tell me, Mr. Potter, is it basic foresight you lack, or common decency?”

Harry slumped into the seat, folded his arms, and kept his mouth shut. Just one evening of this and he would be free. He didn’t want to say anything that would only land him back here next weekend.

Snape quirked a brow but didn’t comment on Harry’s silence. Instead he gestured behind him to the far corner of the room. “Now that the last of us has deigned to make an appearance, we can begin.” He motioned the two boys over to the work bench in the darkest corner of the office, without leaving his seat himself. “Over there you will find a case full of flobberworms. Slughorn has informed me that he is almost out of flobberworm mucus for his potions stock, and I happily volunteered to refill his inventory. Mr. Malfoy, since you were actually on time this evening, you will be stunning the flobberworms and laying them out on the table. Mr. Potter, you will extract the mucus. Neither of you is to leave until your individual task is complete.”

The two young men leaned over the large case to see hundreds of slimy, fat worms. The flobberworms were writhing around over each other, making slurping sounds as they oozed mucus onto each other to more easily slide around. Harry shut his eyes for a moment, with that many worms, he’d be here half the night trying to extract mucus, especially with Snape’s exacting standards.

Harry could hear Malfoy give a resigned sigh beside him. “Sir?” he spoke up.

Snape didn’t even look up from the papers he was grading. “No complaining, Mr. Malfoy. Get to work.”

“I wasn’t going to complain, sir.” Malfoy was standing poised as he addressed the professor. Harry didn’t want to wait for him to argue with Snape to get started, so he just grabbed a pair of gloves and got to work. “I was just thinking that if I stun all the flobberworms, that will take about 45 minutes. However, if only one person is squeezing the mucus out, they’ll be here for hours.”

Harry just focused on his work, slowly squeezing the first flobberworm until all the mucus fell with a disgusting gloop into a large vial. He set the, now much skinnier, worm into an empty crate and reached for another. He didn’t even look up when he heard Snape speak. “I don’t see why it would concern you how long Mr. Potter takes to complete his punishment. The sooner each of you gets started, the sooner you will complete the task.”

Harry set aside the second flobberworm and went for a third. This really would take hours. Malfoy was not giving up, though. “I understand, sir. It’s just that Potter is only here because of me, so I was wondering, would it be alright if I helped him extract the mucus once I’m done stunning them all?” Harry dropped his flobberworm. Who was this person and what had he done with Draco Malfoy? “If we’re both extracting mucus then we’ll both be out of your hair quicker.”

Harry spun to see Snape’s reaction. The professor’s usual annoyed scowl was on clear display, but there was definitely an underlying sense of confusion and disgust. “Do whatever you like, Mr. Malfoy, just as long as the work gets done. Do refrain from holding hands and singing songs if you can possibly resist.”

With that, Snape returned his attention to his paperwork and Harry and Malfoy focused on stunning and squeezing the flobberworms one at a time. For several minutes, Harry expected Malfoy to try and get his attention, or whisper something obnoxious, but nothing happened. The blonde simply grabbed the worms one at a time, stunning them, and then slowly extracting the mucus. In fact, he seemed even better at the task than Harry, but Malfoy always had been very precise when it came to preparing potions ingredients.

Finally, Harry whispered what he knew he ought to. “Thank you.”

Malfoy simply shrugged. “This is disgusting, Potter. This had better make us at least a little more even.”

Harry smiled. “Maybe a little.” He wasn’t sure what Malfoy was planning, or if he had some scheme up his sleeve. However, if it got Harry out of having to wrestle with flobberworms until past midnight, he certainly wasn’t going to complain.

***

When Draco Malfoy finally finished extracting mucus alongside his unexpected partner, Professor Snape inspected their work and gave them a stiff nod of approval. Although, that was probably more for Draco’s benefit. Potter was abysmal at squeezing flobberworms, but then the Chosen One had never really shown much care for his potion’s ingredients.

As the two boys were grabbing their bags, Professor Snape called, “Stay behind, Mr. Malfoy. There is a topic which I would like to discuss with you.” Draco nodded, while Potter gave them both a very suspicious look. As soon as the red-robed young man shut the door behind him, Professor Snape instantly put a finger to his lips to indicate silence and then raised his wand to set up a silencing charm and several privacy wards.

Draco was impressed by how thorough they were. “Was that really necessary? Would he even care what we say?”

Professor Snape scowled. “That boy is probably fumbling with his ridiculous ‘extendable ears’ as we speak. I have never met a person so incapable of keeping his nose out of other people’s business.” Snape turned and sat back down behind his desk, gesturing Draco into the empty seat opposite. “Besides, I very much would not want him to hear what I am about to say. How are you progressing in your little mission? I noticed that the two of you are, at the very least, not actively trying to hex each other.”

Draco nodded. “It’s not going as quickly as I might have hoped, but progress is being made. He opened up a bit about his childhood.”

“And how would you possibly know whether or not he’s just lying to placate you?”

“I don’t think he was. I mean, the first time we met, when he was shopping for school supplies with Hagrid, I made this comment about students who didn’t know they were magic, and he was so upset. I don’t think he would or could just make that up.”

Snape shot forward in his seat. “What did you just say?”

“So, I made this comment that students shouldn’t be allowed at Hogwarts if they don’t even know they’re magic…”

“Not that,” Snape interrupted. “About Hagrid. Why was he getting school supplies with Rubeus Hagrid?”

Draco thought about that. He had never really considered it before, but the groundskeeper did seem like an odd choice to take the Boy-Who-Lived on his first excursion into the magical world. The man couldn’t even legally perform magic. “I’m not sure. I didn’t ask. He was definitely there with Hagrid, though.”

Snape gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Draco. I’ll look into it. You just focus on your mission.”

Draco nodded and made his way into the corridor. As he opened the door, he could have sworn he heard the sound of cheap sneakers running like mad around the corner. 

***

The next morning at breakfast, Harry was practically bouncing in his seat with excitement. The first meeting with his new tutor was today. He had received a note from Dumbledore earlier that week asking him to go to the empty classroom in the fourth-floor east corridor at 11am to meet with his new instructor.

Harry had no idea what to expect from the new tutor or from the lessons. Would it be some wise old wizard like Dumbledore, teaching him about the history of the Wizengamot and all the things they had accomplished? Would it be some middle-aged political expert, showing him the nuances of each of the Special Committees and how they interacted? Would it be some young book-minded individual like Hermione, explaining all the laws line by line? He really hoped it wasn’t the latter. He had always preferred practical advice to memorizing random facts.

At a quarter to eleven, Harry packed up his Charms essay and made his way out of the Common Room, promising Ron and Hermione he’d catch up with them at lunch. Harry was so excited that he was finally going to have answers to all his questions, he actually had to stop himself from running all the way down to the fourth-floor.

As he reached the solid wooden door, he hesitated for just a moment before knocking loudly and confidently. “Come in,” called a firm voice from inside. Harry quickly opened the door and slipped through into the airy classroom.

Instead of rows of desks with chairs, there was one medium size table in the middle of the room, with six chairs around it. Despite the setting, there was only one person seated at the head of the table. She was an elderly woman wearing an old-fashioned green dress with a fox-fur scarf. Atop her pinned-up grey hair, sat a large hat with a stuffed vulture. Harry had seen that exact outfit once before, and the memory definitely stood out in his mind. He had seen that precise dress and hat on the boggart-version of Professor Snape, when he had been wearing Neville’s grandmother’s clothes. “Mrs. Longbottom?”

As he spoke, she rose from her seat to greet him. “Please join me, young man. And shut your mouth. You are the heir of a noble house, not a guppy.” Harry realized he was gaping at her, and snapped his mouth shut immediately. He quickly sat down in the chair to her right, which she had indicated.

No sooner had Harry sat down, then she reclaimed her seat and launched into introductions. “Now, let’s get one thing straight young man. I, personally, think that you have more brains and guts than the entire Ministry of Magic put together. You have faced off against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named more times than I can keep track, and you’ve done better than any wizard twice your age should half expect. That being said, while you are here in this room, you are my student, and if I am going to teach you about wizarding culture and etiquette, you will treat me with the proper respect as the authority in that subject. I will warn you now that I have very exacting standards. I will not allow any lollygagging or rowdy behavior, is that understood?”

Harry had only processed about half of what she said. “Er, yeah, I s’pose.”

A look of almost pure horror passed across Neville’s grandmother’s face. She looked absolutely scandalized. “Albus warned me you were raised by muggles and were far behind in your training, but I had no idea how much work we had ahead of us. Not to worry, dear, this isn’t your fault. We still have time to try and repair the damage.”

Harry lowered his head into his hands. No wonder Neville was such a stammering pile of nerves. “I’m sorry, what damage?”

Mrs. Longbottom raised an imperious brow. “First of all, get your elbows off the table.” Harry immediately removed his elbows, but he suddenly wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. “Stop fidgeting. Clasp your hands and set them on the table in front of you. No, watch the elbows…good. Now sit up straight.” Harry immediately leaned his body upright. “No, that’s not straight, that’s just straighter.” Harry actually had to readjust how he was sitting so that his back was perfectly straight. “Excellent, now chin up. There. That is how you ought to sit at all times.”

Harry was already getting uncomfortable after about ten seconds. “No offense, Mrs. Longbottom, but I’ve never seen Neville sit like this.”

“Then you’ve never seen Neville sit down to dinner with me.” Harry couldn’t help but feel thankful for that. Mrs. Longbottom had her lips pursed in a stern expression that would have made Professor McGonagall proud. “Second lesson, you shall refer to me, and others, by their formal title while in these lessons. Outside of these lessons, while in a more informal social setting, I would encourage you to call me Augusta. However, during these lessons, you will practice the proper way to refer to your noble peers. You will refer to me as Lady Longbottom or madam. I suppose if you’re feeling particularly loquacious, you can call me Dowager Lady Longbottom, but even I will admit that’s a mouthful.”

Harry felt completely out of his depth. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever felt loquacious in my entire life.”

“Lesson three, no more using the word ‘yeah’ in my presence, or ‘s’pose’ for that matter. You will say ‘yes’ or ‘suppose’ or whichever word you chose. You will pronounce all the syllables and all the consonants in that word, unless it is an official contraction, and even then, you will use them sparingly. Is that understood?”

“Yes, madam. However, I think there may be some mistake.”

“I don’t see any mistake, except that your head keeps tilting to the side, young man. Here,” she pulled out a large book from her bright red handbag. The title read ‘Miss Marple’s Guide to Manners and Etiquette.’ “Just place this on your head and try not to disturb it. You can hang on to that book after this lesson and read it before we meet again. We’ll be meeting twice a month for these lessons.”

Harry picked up the book but didn’t put it anywhere near his head. “No, madam, that’s not what I meant. I think there’s been a misunderstanding in the subject of these lessons. I was under the impression that I’d be getting tutoring in Wizengamot policy, and the culture and politics of Wizarding Britain. This just seems more like…table manners.”

“Oh, my dear boy, you’re nowhere near ready for table manners. No, no, we’ll start with getting you to sit and stand properly, and move on to walking and making proper introductions. If you show a lot of promise today, then in a couple weeks, I’ll show you how to do a proper bow.”

“Lady Longbottom, no offense, but this isn’t what I signed on for. I thought I was going to be learning how to pass bills and address members of the Wizengamot and stuff like that.”

“Don’t use the word ‘stuff,’ and set that book on your head.” Harry found it difficult to resist such a commanding voice, and quickly put the book on top of his tangle of black hair. It immediately slid off. He tried again. By the third try it managed to stay for a moment before slipping backward onto his shoulders. Lady Longbottom nodded. “As I suspected. Keep practicing. Now, dear boy, I don’t see how you can possibly expect me to teach you how to address a Lord of the Wizengamot when you don’t even know how to properly introduce yourself. For that matter, how would I be able to teach you to perform a cultural wizarding ritual when you don’t even know the proper procedure for pouring tea?”

Harry tried to keep his neck perfectly straight as the book finally seemed to lie still for half a minute. His hands were up and ready to catch it the moment it started to slip. He couldn’t believe that he could balance on a tiny little broom, but he was having this much trouble getting a book to stay in one place. He listened to Lady Longbottom’s explanation of all the things he needed to learn with mounting terror. How could he possibly be that far behind? “You’re going to teach me how to pour tea?”

“I’m going to have to teach you a lot of things if you want to fit in with pure-blooded wizarding culture. And believe me, understanding pureblood society is the key to understanding the nuances of how the Wizengamot operates. It’s all connected. And if you don’t know how to bow properly, or pour tea correctly, or give the correct formal title, people will notice, and they will be offended.”

Harry readjusted the book again. He supposed that made sense. Malfoy had been furious because he didn’t shake his hand. He just hadn’t thought that these lessons would consist of so much etiquette and proper society stuff. He thought it would be more, well, interesting. This was going to be miserable.

“Now, my dear boy, let’s take a break from that book for now. Stand up and I’ll show you how to do a proper wizarding handshake.” Harry had to suppress a groan. If he had to hear about bloody handshakes one more time he was going to lose it.

***

_Harry sat on the swing in the old park off Magnolia Crescent. It was the same park he had once encountered Dudley and his gang, before they had been chased by a couple of dementors. The sky was cloudy and dim, very unlike that day, which had been one of the hottest on record._

_“Where are we, Harry?” Harry turned and gaped at the figure sitting in the swing next to his. It was Tom Riddle, aged 16 like in the last dream, wearing fitted robes this time instead of a uniform, but still with the same piercing red eyes. Harry could not have imagined a setting where the young dark lord would look more out of place. It was surreal to see him in this quiet corner of Little Whinging._

_“What are you doing here?”_

_Riddle simply let his legs dangle slowly back and forth. “I don’t understand why you always ask me the same question every time you see me. The answer never changes. This is a dream. We’re dreaming. Besides, I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is. This must be from your memories. It isn’t from mine.”_

_Harry simply nodded, unable to look away form the bizarre sight of a young Voldemort sitting on a child’s swing. “Er, yeah, this is a park in Surrey. Near my Aunt and Uncle’s house.”_

_“I see.” Tom Riddle looked around with an expression of polite interest. He looked so different when he wasn’t in the snake-like form of an adult Voldemort. One might never suspect that there was a demon behind that angel face. “Did you come here often as a child?”_

_“No, not really. I didn’t get out much.”_

_Riddle simply nodded, his expression was deceptively benign. “No? Nor did I.” Suddenly, Riddle started doing something that Harry absolutely couldn’t believe. He began swinging his legs forward and backward. Not very quickly, but it was enough to cause momentum to the swing his was sitting on, which slowly began to sway to and fro._

_“What are you doing? Are you seriously going to swing?”_

_Riddle shrugged. “I suppose. I don’t see why not. I’m here, aren’t I? What else am I going to do?”_

_Harry watched as he slowly climbed higher. He wasn’t going very high or very fast, but just the fact that he was going at all seemed incomprehensible. “You don’t strike me as the type to play around on a swing set.”_

_Riddle smirked. “I can’t remember the last time I was on a swing. It was probably around 1934.”_

_Harry laughed. “Yeah, I guess it’s been a while.”_

_Riddle stopped swinging his legs, and simply let the momentum carry him for a while. “I always hated going to the playground. The swings were one of the few tolerable things there. I wasn’t forced to interact with the other children.”_

_“I take it you didn’t like the other kids much?”_

_“They didn’t like me.” Riddle’s swing slowly winded down so it was barely swinging at all. “I was always an outcast among the muggles. I believe you had a similar experience.”_

_Harry’s mind wandered to his own childhood. The other kids on the playground trying to avoid that weird Potter kid with the baggy clothes and the broken glasses. Dudley and his friends chasing him down. Hiding in the bushes so they didn’t get the chance to beat him bloody._

_Riddle was watching him intently. “You had a lonely childhood, didn’t you Harry?”_

_Righteous anger coursed through Harry’s veins. How dare Tom Riddle try to manipulate him like this. How dare he point out their similarities in such a blatant and callous way. How dare he point out Harry’s terrible childhood when he was the very reason Harry had such a childhood. “At least I’m not lonely anymore. Not like you. You’ve surrounded yourself with people, Tom, and you’re still just as lonely as you always were. You don’t love anyone. You don’t have anyone you really care about. You’re all alone and you always will be.”_

_Harry had expected Riddle to be angry, he had hoped to upset him, but the young man just smiled like he knew a secret that Harry didn’t. He planted his feet firmly on the ground, causing his swing to come to a complete stop. “That’s where you’re wrong, Harry. I might be all alone, but so are you. You’ve surrounded yourself with little friends and concerned adults, but you’re just as alone as I am. You might have people you love, but you have responsibilities they will never understand. And when the time comes for you to do what needs to be done, where will they be? Who will stand with you at the very end? No one. No one really understands you. No one can really connect with you. You’re alone just like me, but at least I enjoy being alone. You’re living your own greatest fear.”_

_Harry tried not to let the pain of those words reach his face, but he was sure he wasn’t successful. Riddle had touched a nerve so close to his heart he was surprised the muscle was still pumping like normal. Because deep down, beneath his Gryffindor courage and determined optimism, he really was scared that he would end up alone. That he would always be a freak who was unworthy of love. That his responsibilities were his and his alone, and no one else would ever really understand him._

_“It’s alright, Harry.” He snapped out of his self-pity to see Tom Riddle once again pumping his legs back and forth and his swing oscillated slowly. “You won’t be alone forever.”_

_Harry tried to understand what the other young man could possibly be talking about now. “What?”_

_“Well, you have me, after all.” He flashed another pleasant smile._

_Harry didn’t listen to any more. He stood up and made his way across the playground. “Fuck you.”_


	8. Unfortunate Relations

On Monday morning, Harry picked at his eggs and sausages without ever managing to bring them to his mouth. He was getting really sick of these nightmares. What little he had read from the books in the Room of Requirement, while interesting, hadn’t been at all useful. Not even Malfoy’s suggestion had really helped with his personal situation, and Harry had perused it more thoroughly than the other books. He was pretty sure they were just dreams, and not visions like the year before, but they were still getting to him, and he really didn’t like the idea of Voldemort affecting him so badly, even if it wasn’t really real.

“Hey Harry!” Ron interrupted his thoughts. “Check it out, do I look like a pureblood lord?” Ron was trying to balance his potions book on his head and was being about as clumsy as Harry had been over the weekend. Ron had been pulling stunts like this ever since yesterday, when Harry had confessed to him and Hermione what a waste of time his ‘Wizarding Politics’ tutoring had turned out to be.

“Ronald, put that down, you’re going to make a mess.” Hermione didn’t even look up from her copy of the Daily Prophet as she spoke. She had been much more optimistic about the idea of wizarding etiquette lessons and seemed to think that it would be good for Harry. Although, Harry secretly thought she was just envious that he had a tutor who was assigning him additional required reading.

Ron chuckled as he let the book fall into his hands. “Oh, of course, Hermione. I wouldn’t want to make a mess. Nice purebloods never make messes, right Harry?”

Harry just shrugged. “I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be able to put up with those lessons. I mean, I agree that I need to learn all the basics before I’ll ever understand Wizengamot protocol and all that, but at this rate it seems like it’ll be all year before we even get to the political stuff. Maybe I’ll just learn all this etiquette junk later, after the war, when I actually have time for this nonsense. I could just tell Dumbledore I changed my mind.”

Harry glanced down the table to watch Neville finish off his porridge. Harry had been sneaking glances at the boy ever since his lesson. Harry had never noticed that Neville really did eat with his back perfectly straight and his chin level. And the Longbottom Heir wasn’t the only one. Most of Slytherin table sat primly with their elbows off the table, carefully holding their knives and forks, and chewing with their mouths firmly shut. Most of the Gryffindors looked like a bunch of barbarians by comparison.

Hermione turned the page of her paper as she sipped her tea. “Perhaps the war will be over sooner than you think.”

Harry perked up at that. “What do you mean?”

“According to the paper, they’ve already arrested a Death Eater and have brought him in for questioning.”

“Who?” Harry yelled as he tore the paper right out of Hermione’s hands. “Is it Bellatrix Lestrange?”

Ron was trying to read over his shoulder. “Is it You-Know-Who?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I think that if they had You-Know-Who in custody it would be slightly bigger news, Ron.”

Harry scanned the paper until he saw the article Hermione was referring to. “Stan Shunpike? They arrested Stan Shunpike? There’s no way he could be a Death Eater.”

Ron grabbed a sausage with his hands and bit off an end. His interest had immediately dropped off once he realized it wasn’t anyone he knew. “Who’s Stan Shunpike?”

Harry flipped the paper over to show Ron the photo of the scrawny young man. “He’s the conductor of the Knight Bus. He picked me up once. There’s no way that pimply speck is a Death Eater.”

Hermione gave him a contemplative look. “I don’t know, Harry, the paper said he was bragging about being a Death Eater at some pub in London.”

“Tosh!” Harry threw the paper back onto the table. “He’s just got a big mouth and doesn’t know when to shut up. I bet he was just trying to get a free drink or something. I’d bet ten galleons he’s not a real Death Eater. I can’t believe they’re holding him because of something someone overheard at a pub!”

Hermione nodded. “I agree. If only you were involved in wizarding politics, Harry, you’d actually be able to do something about it.”

Harry scowled at her. “Fine, Hermione, I won’t quit my lessons…yet. We’ll see how it goes.”

Hermione smiled and took another sip of her tea. “That’s all I ask. Just give it another chance and see how it goes.”

***

Speaking of second chances, Harry still wasn’t sure how he felt about Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin had been trying to catch his attention since the beginning of Potions class, but Harry kept his eyes squarely focused on the worktable in front of him.

At this point, he didn’t even bother reading the actual instructions printed in the book. He was relying entirely on the Half Blood Prince’s scribbles to brew his Numbing Potion. Hermione gave an exasperated sigh when she saw what he was doing. “Harry, the instructions clearly say to cut the nettlewort.”

Harry shrugged and as he lowered his mallet instead of his knife. “Well, the Prince says to smash it, so that’s what I’m doing.”

Ron looked up from his own station. “The Prince said to smash it? Oh man, I already started cutting. Here let me see that mallet when you’re done.”

Hermione huffed. “I still don’t trust this Prince fellow, whoever he is. The instructions are written that way for a reason. Besides, Ron, you already added your Columbine petals two steps too early, so I don’t think it really matters how you prepare your nettlewort.”

Ron looked down at his lumpy, dark blue potion. “Oh, so it’s not supposed to look like this, then?”

“Speaking of petals,” Harry said, passing Ron the mallet, “I need to go get some more.”

Hermione tried passing him a handful from her own workstation. “That’s alright Harry, I grabbed extra just in case.”

“Not those, Hermione. I need a few pink ones to mix in with the blue ones.”

Harry heard Hermione calling after him “But the instructions clearly state…” Harry never found out what the instructions had to say about the inclusion of pink petals, since he slipped into the ingredients cupboard before Hermione could finish.

He perused the shelves of flower petals looking for Columbine. Before he could find what he was looking for, he heard the door open and close behind him. “You do know that Slughorn puts all the ingredients we need in the cabinet out there, right?”

Harry didn’t even bother to turn around at the familiar drawling voice of Draco Malfoy, he just rolled his eyes. It was interesting; a year ago, Harry would have panicked if he’d been trapped alone in a small room with Malfoy. Now, he just felt mildly annoyed. “I’m experimenting, trying to improve the recipe.”

He could hear Malfoy’s disbelieving scoff behind him as he trailed his finger along the shelves looking for Columbine. Malfoy clearly doubted his potions abilities. Probably based on experience. “Let me know how that goes.” Harry just shrugged as he found the right flower. Now he just needed to find the right color. “By the way, how’s your extracurricular reading going?”

Harry found the pink petals and pulled out a handful. “Fine. How is your distant relative doing?”

Harry turned to find Draco smirking, as if he knew something Harry didn’t. He didn't seem at all perturbed that Harry had mentioned the bust that he had been so panicked to find. “You’d better not tell anyone about him,” the blonde warned, but with a hint of amusement in his voice. Harry didn’t bother to try and examine that.

“Whatever,” Harry made to leave, but found his passage blocked. “Was there something else you wanted?”

“I have another book for you.” As he spoke, Draco pulled a shrunken book from his pocket and used an Engorgio to restore it to proper size.

Harry didn’t even bother to glance at the title. He was pretty sure that whatever it was wouldn’t answer his questions about his weird Voldemort dreams. He was starting to think that the situation was unique to him and Tom Riddle. “No thanks, Malfoy. Your other suggestion didn’t really have any of the answers I wanted. I don’t think even I know what I’m looking for.”

Malfoy just smirked. “This isn’t about Mind Magic, Potter. I think this will have answers to a very different question.” Curiosity piqued, Harry glanced down at the thick tome in Malfoy’s hands. ‘Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy.’ Harry reached out without thinking, and Malfoy’s smirk grew wider. “It’s a book of wizarding family trees. It’s got the Black Family Tree in there, and the Potter one as well. It’s from our library. I asked Mother to send it and it arrived this morning.”

Harry held the book in one hand and almost opened it with the other, until he realized his other hand was full of pink petals. His potion! It was still on the burner! “Look, Malfoy, this is nifty and all, but I don’t really have time to study my family tree right now.”

Malfoy tapped the book with his wand again and re-shrunk it so that it sat in Harry’s palm. “You can look at it later. It’s an older version; from the fifties. They update it every couple decades, and we already have the newer version, so you can keep that one.”

“Er…thanks.” Harry was surprised that he actually meant it. The book was a surprisingly thoughtful gift.

“Of course. I’ll also keep an eye out for any books on dream magic or whatever it was you were looking at. Even if you’re not sure what exactly you need. You never know.”

Harry pocketed the book on family trees and made his way out the door. “Alright. Thanks, I guess.”

When Harry returned to his station and started adding one pink petal for every four blue petals, he noticed that both Ron and Hermione were giving him a skeptical look. “What?”

Ron broke first. “Did Malfoy just follow you out of the cupboard? Was he in there with you? Did he hex you? Are you ok?”

Harry shrugged and stirred his concoction. It slowly took on a foamy consistency and turned a pale sky blue. “Malfoy said he’d keep an eye out for a book for me, but I don’t think it’ll really help with anything. We’re…not fighting at least.”

Hermione looked up from her potion, which was not quite as pale as Harry’s. “What book is he looking for? What do you need help with, Harry? Is something the matter?”

Harry took a deep breath as he added the next couple ingredients. He really didn’t want to bring up the subject of his dreams to Ron and Hermione again, at least until he had some sort of solution. He didn’t want to involve anyone in this mess. However, after Tom Riddle’s foreboding warning about how Harry was going to be alone without anyone to help him, he felt that terrifying possible outcome would be far worse than simply confiding in his friends about some awkward dreams. As much as he didn’t want to have to share his responsibilities, he’d rather that than be alone forever.

“Nothing’s the matter, Hermione. Malfoy just caught me looking at books on dream magic. I’m still having nightmares about Voldemort.” Ron, who had been trying to add a couple pink petals to try and balance out his own potion, almost choked at ‘the V word’ and dropped about seven petals into his brew at once. Harry kept going before Hermione could interrupt. “And before you say it, don’t you dare suggest that I tell Dumbledore. I’m not wasting his time with this.”

Hermione sighed. “Well if you don’t want to tell Dumbledore, perhaps we could look into it ourselves. I’ll keep an eye out for books on dream magic in the library. If you like, I could even look up tips about occlumency. I know you hated it when Snape taught it, but maybe some self-study would go a little better.”

Harry added the final sprigs of aloe and watched as the potion settled. It looked perfect. “Ok, Hermione. I suppose that’s not a bad idea. I mean, even if the occlumency doesn’t help with the dreams, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to be able to do occlumency. Both Snape and Voldemort can read minds after all.”

Slughorn, who had been frowning at Ron’s final product, coughed and spluttered when he heard Voldemort’s name. “Now, now, my boy, there’s no need for that type of language!” The professor moved along to the Slytherins after praising Harry and Hermione for their fantastic brewing skill, but he gave Harry a little extra praise.

Hermione tried to reign in her disapproving look, but was clearly having trouble. “Well, anyway, that’s settled. We’ll all try and learn some occlumency.”

Ron looked up at that. “All of us?”

“Yes, Ron. It will be good for us. Besides, if Harry can do it, then so can we.” Ron looked down at his dark, thick potion which was slurping instead of foaming. He was probably doubting that statement.

***

That evening, in the Common Room, Hermione perused the books on Mind Magic that Harry had borrowed from the Room of Requirement. He had told her about his little expedition there, but didn’t mention that that was where he ran into Malfoy, as per their deal. Not that it really mattered, since the blonde was just trying to hide an ugly family bust, but it was the principle of the thing. Harry didn’t renege on deals, even if they were with slimy Slytherins.

While Hermione tried to find any information she could on occlumency, Ron played exploding snap with Seamus Finnegan, and Harry perused his new book of family trees. Each family seemed to be in alphabetical order, so the Black Family Tree was near the beginning. Harry only looked at that long enough to find Orion Black at the bottom. If this version came out in the fifties, it wouldn’t have Sirius or his brother yet, but otherwise it looked very similar to the tree at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Harry quickly flipped through the pages until he found the Potter Family Tree. At the bottom was Charlus Potter and Doreah Potter nee Black. Based on the dates, they must have been his father’s parents. So, that was how he was related to the Blacks, his grandmother had been one. Harry looked further up the tree to see women from several other prominent pureblood families had married into the Potter line. He recognized Abbott and McMillan. He even saw a Prewitt several branches up. “Hey, Ron, I think we might be related.”

Ron glanced up from his game for only a moment, not wanting to distract himself long enough to singe his hands on the exploding cards. “Oh yeah? That’s wicked, mate.”

“What!?” came Ginny’s horrified cry. She had been reclining on a couch with Dean Thomas, but she was suddenly sitting ramrod straight with an alarmed expression. “What do you mean we’re related?”

Several other Gryffindors also looked over at this, clearly curious. “This book has a bunch of wizarding family trees, including the Potter family one. There’s a Prewitt on here, which probably isn’t a coincidence. Don’t worry, though, it was about eight generations ago or something like that, so you don’t need to feel bad about that singing Valentine.”

Dean perked up at that. “Singing Valentine? It sounds like there’s a story there.”

Ginny quickly shook her head, noticing that more and more Gryffindors were listening in on their conversation. “No. There’s no story. It wasn’t a big deal. Nothing really happened.”

Harry burst out laughing. “Oh yeah, sure, nothing happened except I got attacked by a bloody dwarf dressed up as a little cupid. The thing had a little diaper and wings and everything. I didn’t want to hear his poetry, so he pounced on me. My bag got squished. There was ink everywhere. This was back in second year, when Lockhart thought it would be a good idea to push the whole Valentine’s Day thing. I really don’t miss that man.” Ron, Dean, and Seamus were all snickering at Ginny’s blushing face, and even Hermione looked like she was trying not to smile.

Harry felt it was all good fun, until he heard an obnoxious giggle from the other side of the room, and a small group of fourth year girls made their way forward, led by Romilda Vane. “I can’t believe you sent Harry such an obnoxious ‘gift,’ Ginerva. How embarrassing for you! I don’t think I’d be able to show my face in Gryffindor Tower again if I did anything half as humiliating.”

Ginny scowled and was about to retort, when Harry beat her to it. “Shut it, Vane. Ginny sent a silly poem when she was eleven. She has nothing to be ashamed of. How was she supposed to know that stupid dwarf was set to attack mode? Besides, it’s pretty funny in retrospect. It makes a good story.”

“Yes, Romilda,” Hermione agreed. “At least when Ginny had a crush on Harry, it was before he became the most popular boy in school. At least she actually liked _him_ , and not just the _idea_ of him.” Several other students laughed at that, while Romilda Vane went bright red. Whether that was from anger or embarrassment, it was hard to tell.

Harry glanced at Ginny in time to see the grateful smile on her face. “Anyway,” Harry tried to distract everyone. “Let’s see who else I’m related to, shall we?” At this point, Harry seemed to have the attention of over half the Common Room. It seemed everyone wanted to find out whether or not they were related to the ‘Chosen One.’

Harry ran his fingers further up the family tree, looking for any familiar names. “There’s a Longbottom on here, Neville. Oh, and there’s a McMillan. I bet Ernie wouldn’t have been so quick to accuse me of being the Heir of Slytherin if he had known we were related.”

Cormac McLaggen, from the quidditch try-outs, strode forward. “Are there any McLaggens on your tree, Potter? You know my family is entirely pureblooded for at least twelve generations back.” Harry shuddered and was relieved to see that there were no McLaggens. At least his ancestors had good taste.

Harry did see a few names that worried him, though. There was a Smith on there, and he really hoped it was just a generic Smith and he wasn’t related to that obnoxious Hufflepuff, Zacharias Smith, from the DA. There was also a Nott way up on the tree. “Oh man, there’s a Nott. Do you think that’s the same as Theodore Nott from Slytherin?”

Ron made a face. “I hope not, Harry. His dad’s a Death Eater. You don’t want to be related to a Death Eater.”

Hermione looked up from her book once again and gave them both an exasperated look. “Harry can’t help who he’s related to. Besides, you know for a fact that you’re related to the Blacks, Harry. Which means that you know for a fact that you’re related to Bellatrix Lestrange. It can’t get much worse than that.”

“Fair point,” Harry agreed.

At this point, Ron and Seamus had completely forgotten about their game, and were pretty focused on Harry's new book. “I’m tired of hearing about Potters,” Ron complained. “What other families are in that book? Does it have the Weasleys?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

Before Harry had a chance to flip that far ahead, Ron jumped up and grabbed the text from his hands. He instantly opened it to the back. “Oh yeah, here we go. This is my family tree, but it only has up till Septimus Weasley, he’s my granddad.”

Instead of reading through his family tree to see who all he was related to, Ron seemed more interested in finding out which families were listed in the book. “They’ve got the Longbottom Family Tree, as well. You’re not on it though, yet, Neville. The last one is…Algie Longbottom.”

The boy blushed at the attention. Yet, Harry noticed, his back was still straight. “That’s my great uncle, Algie. He’s the one who bought me Trevor.” They all looked over at the large toad which had, once again, escaped the dorm room and was sitting over in a quiet corner.

Ron rolled his eyes. “And aren’t we all grateful for that.” The redhead started spouting off more families which had been included in the list of ancient wizarding families.

Seamus tried to peak over his shoulder. “Check if McClivert is in there. That was my mum’s maiden name before she married a muggle.”

Ron was still frantically flipping through the pages. Harry hoped he didn’t rip them. Sure, Malfoy had said he didn’t need to give the book back, but he still didn’t want any damage to be done. “Hold on, Seamus,” Ron chided the Irishman, “I want to look up Granger first.”

Harry tried to subtly shake his head at Ron, but it was too late. Hermione looked beyond uncomfortable when she spoke up. “Er, Ron, Granger won’t be in that book. My parents are both muggles, remember? None of my relatives would be in there.”

Ron simply moved on to McClivert as if nothing had happened. “Oh yeah,” was all he said. Ron acted as if this wasn’t a big deal at all, and Harry supposed it technically wasn’t. It didn’t matter that Hermione was a muggleborn, she was still the most brilliant witch in their class. But Harry suddenly realized that Hermione probably felt really left out of this conversation. The same with Dean Thomas, he supposed, looking over at the tall, dark-skinned young man next to Ginny. They didn’t have any wizarding heritage to look up.

Before Harry had a chance to try and say something to smooth things over, Ron spoke up again, and what he said left Harry shocked. “I s’pose Hermione wouldn’t be in this book yet. But she will be as soon as she marries into a wizard family.”

Harry immediately turned to look at Hermione. She was blushing so much she looked almost burgundy, and she was looking anywhere but at Ron. There was a small, shy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Harry wondered if Ron even noticed what effect he had on her. Harry also noticed that Dean was trying to catch Ginny’s eye at those words, but she was looking anywhere but at him.

For the first time, Harry was really grateful that he was a half-blood. It wasn’t that he cared so much about ancient bloodlines or any of that pure-blooded nonsense. But it was really fun to look at his wizarding genealogy and see all the other witches and wizards he was related to. He felt bad that he had spent the first ten years of his life not even knowing about this world he was so connected to.

At the thought of half-bloods, Harry was reminded of the Half-Blood Prince. He wondered if the Prince was in the book, or at least his family. Supposedly, if he were a half-blood, then half of his family would be in this book somewhere. Harry wondered if he himself was related to the Prince. There had been several names on his family tree that he hadn’t recognized, like: Fleamont, Peverell, and Stinchcombe. Perhaps the Half-Blood Prince was from one of those families. It would be pretty amazing if he turned out that he and the Prince had some connection, and he didn’t even realize it.

***

Severus Snape rasped on the thick wooden door with three clear, precise taps. He didn’t want to be here. He hated the outdoors, he hated nature, he hated loud noises, he hated animals, and he really hated the idea of climbing into a small, dilapidated hut that seemed to act as a sort of conduit, attracting all the things he most detested.

As soon as he finished knocking on the door, an obnoxiously loud barking could be heard inside. It certainly did not improve his mood. “Calm down there, Fang. Hang on a sec! Be right there.” Severus waited with quickly evaporating patience until the door finally opened and the entire frame was filled with the overly large form of Rubeus Hagrid. “Oh, ‘ello Professor Snape. I wasn’t expectin’ you.”

“Indeed. I can’t imagine why you would, since I have never visited you before, and I made no indication that that would change. However, I’m afraid I have a few questions which I would like to ask you.”

Hagrid did not seem remotely put off by Severus’s comment. He simply gave a jovial smile, nodded his head, and stepped out of the way (as much as his enormous figure would allow). “Why don’t yer come on in.”

Severus had to duck his head slightly as he passed through the threshold. He could only imagine how Hagrid made his way through this door regularly, but then Hagrid was probably used to not fitting places.

The man in question had already traipsed back to the corner that acted as the kitchen of his one-room hut. He seemed to be boiling a pot for tea. “I was actually expectin’ ‘Arry and ‘is friends. They usually stop by to ask questions about some bloody mystery abou’ this time a’ year. I even ‘ad cakes prepared for the occasion. I ‘spose you can ‘elp yerself.” Hagrid lifted a large plate full of grey lumpy blobs. “Rock cake?”

Severus sneered down at the foul-looking objects but decided to take one in the hopes that Hagrid would be more amenable to answering his questions. Of course, if Potter was able to easily get answers from the boisterous man, how hard could it be? “Thank you.” Severus sat in the overstuffed armchair that Hagrid indicated. When an unusually large boarhound tried to place its slobbery head in Severus’s lap, the potion’s master gave it such a sour look, that it seemed to change its mind and go lay down in a quiet corner.

While Hagrid waited for the pot to heat up the Muggle way, Severus inspected his ‘cake.’ It seemed to be the same density, feel, and weight as an actual rock. For a moment, Severus contemplated the possibility that Hagrid would try to trick him into eating a rock as some sort of mean spirited prank. That was until the huge man turned around and gave him such a genuinely earnest look, that the thought was wiped from his mind. “I ‘ope you like the rock cakes. ‘Arry and ‘is friends can’t seem to get enough of ‘em. They even take extra in their pockets when they leave.”

Severus had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. There was no way Potter and his little cronies were eating these things on a regular basis and still had all their teeth. They were probably just stocking up on ammunition to throw at unsuspecting first year Slytherins. Severus set the ‘cake’ aside as inconspicuously as he could. “Speaking of Potter, that was actually who I was hoping to speak to you about.”

Hagrid poured them both a surprisingly normal cup of tea and settled down on the large bed across from Severus. “Oh yeah? How is ‘Arry doin’? Like I said, ‘ee usually comes to visit me by abou’ this time a’ year. I figured he must be busy wiff this and that. Lot of responsibility that boy.”

Severus took a sip of his tea. Hagrid had added sugar, which he usually didn’t like, but at least it was still drinkable. “Yes, you’ve known Potter since his first year. How did you two first meet?”

Hagrid seemed to beam with pride at the question. “Well, a’ course, I was the one ter drop him off wiff his muggle family after tha’ Halloween night. But then, that were years ago. When ‘Arry turned eleven, I was the one ‘oo gave ‘im his Hogwarts letter.”

Severus furrowed his brow at that. “Don’t they usually just mail the letters? Was Potter really so special that someone had to hand deliver one?”

Hagrid took a slurp of his tea as he explained. “They tried to mail ‘em! Galloping gargoyles did they try. Must’ve sent ‘undreds a’ letters. They made it to the ‘ouse a’right. Never seemed to make it into ‘Arry’s hands. It weren’t ‘till I showed up that we figured out why they weren’t gettin’ to ‘im.”

Severus had a very bad feeling about this. “Why weren’t they getting to him?”

Hagrid told him. He told Severus all about his trip to a little cabin on a storm-ravaged island, and exactly what he had found there. Hagrid seemed to have a lot to say on the subject. On and on he went about Harry’s cruel Uncle Vernon, and the shrewd Aunt Petunia, and the boy’s fat and spoiled cousin. Slowly but surely, Severus’s entire perception of the world and how it worked was fundamentally changed.

The Dark Lord had been right, important information was being kept from Potter. Draco was right, Potter hadn’t known he was magical until just before he started school. Lupin was right, the boy had experienced a sad and lonely childhood. It seemed that everyone had been right about the boy, except for Severus, and there was something fundamentally wrong with that. Unfortunately, Hagrid’s story only raised more questions within Severus than it answered, and he was determined to learn more about Potter’s childhood with Petunia and her family.

On and on Hagrid complained about the Dursleys, their lack of care for Potter, and their obvious fear and loathing of all things magical. Although, Hagrid didn’t seem to think of it in those terms. “And then tha’ trumped up uncle of his ‘ad the nerve to insult Albus Dumbledore, and I caught that bully of a cousin trying to finish off ‘Arry’s birthday cake, so I couldna take it no more, and I gave that boy a pig’s tail to match ‘is pig face.” Hagrid gave a proud smile before he suddenly looked horrified. “Oh, I probably shouldna said tha’. Forget I mentioned it.”

Severus honestly couldn’t have cared less. If anything, hearing about a bully getting their comeuppance was always good news, even if the bully was tormenting Potter. “Don’t worry, I’m quite good at keeping secrets.”

Hagrid stood and took Severus’s empty cup. “How would you like another cuppa? Or maybe somethin’ a bit stronger?” The bristly face winked one of his gleaming, beetle black eyes.

Severus considered that. Hagrid was known to get quite talkative when he’d been drinking. Besides, the half giant was immune to legillimency, so a little liquid incentive certainly couldn’t hurt. “What do you have?”

Hagrid pulled out a bottle a firewhiskey and poured them each a more-than-generous portion. Severus took a small sip, while he watched Hagrid take in a huge swig of the burning liquid. “So, I’m curious, how did you convince Albus that you should be the one to take the boy school shopping? I would have thought McGonagall would have been the obvious choice. Her or one of the other Head of Houses.”

“Oh, I didna need to do anythin’. It were all Dumbledore’s idea. I were already goin’ to Diagon Alley on an important errand, so ‘ee suggested I jus’ stop by an’ pick up ‘Arry on the way. So, it all worked out perfect.”

Severus watched Hagrid gulp down another couple swigs of firewhiskey and get a little more comfortable on his bed. Severus took another tiny sip to keep up appearances. “What errand did you have?”

“Oh, tha’ were the year Flamel was keepin’ the Philosopher’s Stone at the school, you remember. I ‘ad to go to Gringotts to pick it up, so I just took ‘Arry along wiff me. But don’ you worry, I told ‘im it were very important secret Hogwarts business and to just forget all about the package I got from Vault 713. How was I supposed to know ee’d get curious about it? Especially after Dumbledore accidentally left that Prophet at me hut wiff the article about the break-in and ‘Arry found it.”

This time, Severus actually swished back a fair amount of the whiskey and let it burn down his throat. “Tell me, the day that Albus _accidentally_ left the Daily Prophet article lying around your hut, did you happen to mention to him that Potter would be stopping by later?”

Hagrid poured himself another large glass and offered to top off Severus’s, as well. He allowed it. Severus rarely indulged but he had a feeling he didn’t want to sober for where this conversation was inevitably headed. Hagrid took another large swig before he continued, pleasantly nostalgic. “Oh yeah, tha’ was when ‘Arry had just started school. Wha’ a little nipper ‘ee was, too. Looked jus’ like a young James ‘ee did.” Severus resisted the urge to scowl. “So, Dumbledore came by me hut to ask abou’ how things ‘ad gone wiff ‘Arry.”

Hagrid’s accent seemed to get stronger the more he imbibed. It was getting harder to make out his words. “Anyway, I tole ‘im tha’ things were goin’ great wiff ‘Arry, and tha’ I were already planning to have tea wiff ‘im later tha’ afternoon. The ‘eadmaster tole me all abou’ the break-in and ‘ow grateful ‘ee was that I were there to get the stone in time, but then ‘ee mus’ve forgotten abou’ ‘Arry, ‘cause ‘ee left the Prophet righ’ on the table when ‘ee left. I didna even notice it were there, ‘till ‘Arry pointed it out. You’d think Dumbledore would know better.”

Severus took another generous sip; the burn didn’t hit quite as hard now. Instead his throat seemed to tingle. “Yes, you’d think Albus would know better. Apparently not.”

“Well, this is nice, innit?” Hagrid hiccupped.

“What are you referring to?” Severus finally finished off his tumbler, the warmth of the firewhiskey feeling more like a comfort than a burn by the time he reached the bottom of the glass.

Hagrid was already pouring himself a fourth helping as he explained. “This. You an’ me. Two colleagues havin’ a social visit an’ chattin’ abou’ our mutual friends.”

Severus allowed Hagrid to pour him another serving. “I don’t have any friends,” he spoke without a thought. Then something Hagrid had said seemed to make it past the haze of alcohol. “I’m sorry, did you just claim us to be colleagues?”

Hagrid gave a loud burp. “A’ course. We’re both members a’ the Order, after all. An’ we’re both respeck’ed Hogwarts professors.”

Severus stared at the wild-looking man before him as he started on his next glass of firewhiskey. “Yes, I suppose we are both…professors. How are your classes going, by the way?”

Hagrid frowned at that. “I don’ understan’ it. Not a single student signed up for the NEWT level class. Don’ make no sense. Everyone loved the class the las’ coupla years. An’ ‘ardly any third years signed up for the entry level. Apparently, there’s some ridiculous rumor that the class is dangerous. Canna imagine ‘ow tha’ got started.”

Severus took another sip and nodded. “Unfathomable.”

“Tha’s alrigh’ though. It gives me more time to take care of Aragog.”

Severus looked up from his glass at that. “Aragog?”

“Oh yeah, ‘ee’s an Acromantula ‘oo lives out inna Forest, over pass’ the Centaur’s village.”

Severus was alarmed by the news that there was an Acromantula in the forest where any student might wonder across. “You know, if there are dangerous creatures encroaching on school grounds, I’m sure the rest of the faculty would be happy for help you fight them back.”

Hagrid just chuckled at that. “Oh, tha’s not a problem. In all the years I’ve been ‘ere, I’ve never once seen a dangerous creature in tha’ forest. Anyway, poor Aragog’s been gettin’ real sick lately. I’m worried ‘ee migh’ not last much longer. I’ve been visitin’ ‘im every day, bringing’ ‘im mashed flobberworms, and blankets an’ things. I even brough’ ‘im a teddy bear, even though I know ‘ee’s a little old for one. I jus’ thought it mighta be a comfort.”

Severus finished off the rest of his firewhiskey in one go. “I’m sorry, when you said you were trying to take care of an Acromantula on school grounds, I didn’t realize you meant that you were actually _taking care_ of an Acromantula.”

“Well, ‘is family is there for ‘im as well. Bu’ I figured ‘ee could use a little extra suppor’ at this time.”

If Severus would have had any firewhiskey in his mouth, he would have spat it out at those words. “There are more of those things out there!? Are they breeding?”

Hagrid simply shrugged and finished off what may have been his ninth serving. He probably would have poured another if the bottle hadn’t already been empty by then. “There may be a couple out there. An’ I don’ see ‘ow I could tell ‘em not to breed. It’s not as though they make rubbers for giant spiders. Anyway, where was I?” Hagrid looked down at his empty glass and frowned. “Oh yeah, so Dumbledore tole me I could take some extra time off me Gamekeepin’ duties to spend some more time wiff Aragog, so I’ve been…”

Severus couldn’t help but interrupt. “Let me stop you there. The headmaster knows about…” He paused, finally accepting defeat. “You know what? Nevermind. I don’t think anything could surprise me anymore. At this point I would believe it if you said Albus literally sent a student into a den of giant man-eating spiders.”

“Oh, they’d never eat a person, nah. Aragog wouldna hurt a fly.”

Severus nodded. “No, I’m sure a fly wouldn’t make a very satisfying meal.”

Hagrid tried to take another swig of his glass, only to be reminded, once again, that it was still empty. “Yeah, well, I know better’n to send some random student off ter deal wiff a nest of Acromantulas. The only student I’ve ever sent out there were ‘Arry. An’ even then, it were only for a very good reason.”

Severus picked up his rock cake, only to set it back down when he remembered that it still looked and felt like an actual rock. “Excuse me? You sent Potter into a nest of Acromantulas? And that seemed like a reasonable thing to do?” Hagrid nodded happily. “I hesitate to ask this, because I have a terrible feeling I already know the answer, but did the headmaster know that you were planning to send Potter into a den of giant, man-eating spiders?”

Hagrid fervently shook his head. “Nah, a’ course not. ‘Ee ‘ad no idear.” Hagrid seemed to pause and consider that possibility. “I mean, ‘ee were there in the hut when I tole ‘Arry to go, but I don’ think ‘ee knew wha’ we were talkin’ ‘bout.”

Severus closed his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. “No, I’m sure it went right over his head.” He picked up the ‘cake’ as he stood up to leave and handed it back to the amiable giant. “Stop serving these things to people. They are inedible.” He pulled his cloak around himself and made for the door. “Thank you for the whiskey and the conversation. It was…horrifyingly informative. I can see why Potter spends so much time here.”

With that, he made his way back to the castle. He only stumbled a few times on the steep slope, but there was no one around to see.

***

Before Harry could sneak off to bed, he was cornered by a very familiar redhead. “Hey Harry, can I talk to you for just a sec?”

Harry looked down at Ginny and gave her a kind smile. “Sure.” Harry could see several lowerclassmen giving them curious looks. “Let’s just step into the corridor for a minute.” Once they passed through the portrait of the Fat Lady and wondered down the hall about thirty feet, Harry turned to her again. “So, what’s up?”

Ginny blushed, which was something she hadn’t done much of since her first year. “I just wanted to apologize again for that stupid Valentine. Thanks for standing up for me, by the way.”

Harry just shrugged. “It was no trouble. Again, the whole thing just seems kind of funny now, anyway.”

Ginny offered him a smile in return. “Still, it was a pretty terrible poem. ‘Your eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad.’ The diary came up with that one. I thought it was creative at the time. Now, I think he was trying to be bad on purpose.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Oh, he was definitely trying to be bad on purpose. There’s no way Tom Riddle thought that was a good poem. He probably thought it was hilarious that you were going to have a dwarf read that thing out loud to me.”

Ginny actually looked surprised by Harry’s assessment. “I didn’t realize he had a sense of humor.”

“Oh, Tom Riddle definitely had a sense of humor. It was just the kind of humor that was at everyone else’s expense. Anyway, don’t worry about the poem. Just don’t do it again, right?”

Ginny nodded. “Oh, you have my word.”

***

_When Lord Voldemort opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a door. It was hard to miss, since it was only a couple feet in front of him and took up the majority of the wall before him. Upon further inspection, he realized he was in a very small, dim enclosure. His only company was a small person, huddled in the corner._

_The Dark Lord’s attention was instantly drawn to the other person in the small space. They sat on the other side of a small cot which took up almost the entire closet area, which Lord Voldemort also found himself sitting on. The figure’s head was down, and they seemed to be crying. The Dark Lord had no idea how to react to this development. He looked around some more to try and gain some bearings._

_Looking up, he could see the underside of some stairs. So, he was in some sort of cupboard under a set of stairs. There was only one muggle lightbulb providing any illumination, and that light was extremely dim and barely adequate. The entire place was so small he wouldn’t be able to stand it he tried, and that was with his current schoolboy form. If he had is present-day snake-like body, he would hardly have been able to crouch inside the cramped space._

_The other figure let out a small whimper, and his attention was immediately drawn back to the cupboard’s only other occupant. The lithe form and messy black hair indicated that it must be Harry Potter. Besides, who else would he possibly be sharing a dream with? However, the boy looked smaller than he had ever seen him in real life (barring their very first meeting) and his small size was only accentuated by the extremely baggy t-shirt and jeans he was swallowed up in._

_Lord Voldemort waited for the boy to realize he was there, but as the seconds ticked by, he grew impatient waiting for the other’s attention. Finally, he let out an exasperated sigh, his voice sounding just as youthful as his body. “Why are you crying?” He had always hated when the young children at the orphanage had cried. They were so weak and pathetic. He had never cried unless he had a physical injury, and even then, he would never let anyone else see him shed tears._

_No sooner had this thought crossed his mind, then little Harry Potter immediately wiped his face diligently and then turned to see who had spoken. The boy was delicately cradling his wrist, which was obviously injured._

_The first thing Lord Voldemort noticed was how utterly vulnerable Harry looked. He couldn’t have been more than six, and almost everything about him was pitiable. His cheap glasses were broken and held together with sellotape. He had a small cut on his lip and a deep purple bruise under his eye. His cheeks were sallow, and he looked far too small and skinny for his age, giving him a frail and sickly look. Yet his eyes were anything but weak. Although they were red and puffy from crying, they were hard and determined. Those bright green eyes looked like they had seen far too much for a boy his age._

_Next, Lord Voldemort looked down at the wrist, carefully held in Harry’s other hand. It looked swollen and bruised, like someone had grabbed him far too harshly and tugged. “What happened to your wrist? Who did this?” The Dark Lord was surprised how angry he was at seeing Harry Potter so obviously abused and battered. For years, Lord Voldemort had wanted nothing more than to hurt this boy, and yet the thought that someone else had hurt him, that Harry’s childhood must have been very much like his own, did not sit well with him at all._

_The young boy simply looked at him with a mixture of confusion and apprehension. The Dark Lord wasn’t sure if Harry recognized him or not. If Malfoy was correct, Harry didn’t even know who Lord Voldemort was at this age, so it was possible Harry didn’t recognize him in this dream. He might simply be wondering why a strange young man had suddenly appeared in the cupboard with him. However, dreams didn’t necessarily follow the rules of time or physics, so anything was possible._

_The longer Harry went without speaking, the more annoyed Lord Voldemort became. The boy’s wrist looked terrible. It might have been sprained, or even broken. “I said: who did this to you?” The boy simply narrowed his eyes in suspicion, clearly unwilling to admit that he had been attacked. “Tell me!” he cried._

_Suddenly a loud pounding came from the other side of the door. “Keep it down in there, you freak!” a thunderous voice roared from just outside the cupboard. He could easily envision the spittle flying from whatever mouth produced that enraged voice. “So help me, boy, if I have to come in there to shut you up, you’re going to regret it!”_

_Lord Voldemort could only imagine what horrible figure could produce such a hateful and booming voice. He turned back to the little figure of Harry Potter, expecting to see the child cowering in the corner of the cupboard, but that was not what he saw at all. The young boy was sitting up straight, poised and ready, like a serpent preparing to strike. Like a cat cornered, but ready to hiss and bite and scratch until its last breath if necessary. His face was set in a defiant glare. Lord Voldemort had seen that exact expression many times, yet he had never seen it directed at someone else. Those green eyes were alight with a brazen temerity._

_Lord Voldemort had once been surprised by the sheer audacity of this boy. Shocked even, that such a young child could look without fear at an enemy who was so clearly more powerful than himself. However, it all seemed to make sense now. Harry Potter had been practicing that spiteful glower for years. He had spent his entire childhood with an enemy nowhere near as dangerous as the Dark Lord, but who had probably seemed just as inescapable to a young child._

_Both the boy and the young dark lord held their breaths and waited for the angry figure behind the door to move away. Lord Voldemort knew that he could easily kill the man in real life. In fact, he would probably enjoy it. However, this was Harry’s dream (or nightmare) and if Harry dreamed that the man was a threat, then he would be a threat, until the two of them awoke._

_Finally, they could hear the heavy figure stomping away from the door of the cupboard. His footsteps marched up the stairs. As Lord Voldemort looked up at the sound above him, some dust fell down around them from the underside of the stairs and several spiders were dislodged from their webs. One even fell on Lord Voldemort’s shoulder. What a miserable little place this was._

_Once the coast was clear, Lord Voldemort spoke again, much quieter this time. “Who was that?”_

_This time, Harry actually answered. Apparently, now that the threat of being overheard was gone, he was more willing to speak. However, his voice was still barely above a whisper. “Uncle Vernon.” Although the Dark Lord knew, from the context of this nightmare, that the boy must have feared that man, his voice gave away no shred of cowardice or weakness. Instead his voice oozed bitterness and contempt. Lord Voldemort could easily relate to those feelings._

_“Does he always call you a freak?”_

_“They all do. They don’t like me.” The glare was still present in his eyes, and again, it was directed at the door to the cupboard instead of at Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord simply assumed ‘they’ must be Harry’s muggle family. “But they don’t like anyone who isn’t like them, and I’ll never be like them.” If anything, Harry sounded proud that he wasn’t anything like his awful relatives, and the dark wizard couldn’t help but agree._

_“Did he do that to your wrist?” The boy simply nodded, his attention still focused on the door. “Here, let me see it.”_

_At this, the boy turned back toward him. “It’s alright.” He simply shrugged and held up the wrist that already looked improved. “It’s already healing.” The boy was right; the swelling had gone down considerably. Although it still looked bruised, the brown and purple smudges seemed to be the only evidence that anything had happened at all. Lord Voldemort then looked at the cut on the boy’s lower lip. Although it still had dried blood, the cut itself had already sealed shut without so much as a scar. The boy had healed himself without even realizing that he was doing magic._

_Despite the surprisingly powerful company, Lord Voldemort was quite sick of feeling trapped in a tiny, little cupboard. He crawled forward, barely a foot or two, and fiddled with the door handle, trying to get out._

_“It won’t open,” Harry warned him. “They always keep it locked.”_

_Lord Voldemort felt his indignation skyrocket. Always? The boy was kept in this cupboard…locked in this cupboard…often enough that he would use the word always? The Dark Lord looked around the miserable setting more carefully. He took in the tiny cot that the boy was sitting on, with nothing but a thin blanket and a torn pillow. He looked at the shelf of dirty old clothes that seemed almost humorously large for the tiny boy. He saw the little shelf of small, broken toys and the stubs of old crayons. This was not just some cupboard where Harry was locked when he misbehaved. This was his bedroom. And he was kept locked in here…always._

_The Dark Lord jerked on the handle with all his might. He reached for his wand, but it wasn’t there. He tried a wandless Alohamora, but nothing happened. Again, he had to remind himself that this was Harry Potter’s nightmare. If Harry believed the door was locked with no way to open it, then there was no way to open it. If Harry believed they were powerless to escape, then they were powerless to escape. “I am not spending all night locked in a cupboard,” the Dark Lord muttered to himself._

_“You get used to it.” Lord Voldemort turned his attention back to tiny form of the young Harry Potter. The boy did not seem remotely happy with the circumstances, but he did seem resigned to his surroundings._

_The Dark Lord wondered if the boy’s relatives still kept him locked in this cupboard every summer. He doubted they would be able to, even if they wanted. The Harry Potter he was familiar with would hardly be able to fit in here. Besides, he couldn’t imagine Harry Potter getting shoved into a cupboard without some serious kicking and scraping. Based on the bruised wrist and cut lip, the six-year-old version had probably put up quite a bit of fuss for his size. Lord Voldemort could only imagine what the sixteen year old version might try._

_It didn’t matter either way. Harry Potter may spend his nightmares reliving his nights locked in a small cupboard, but the Dark Lord Voldemort did not get locked into broom closets by pathetic muggles, even in the fantasy of a dream. “Harry, open this door. Now.”_

_“Yeah sure, I’ll get right on that.” Apparently, the boy had not only been defiant at a young age, but sarcastic as well. “Oh wait, I just remembered what ‘locked’ means.”_

_“You can open it Harry. You have magic. You’re special. You can get it open if you really want to. Focus on how much you want the door to open and it will listen.”_

_Despite Malfoy’s insistence that the boy had no idea magic even existed until he was eleven, this version of Harry didn’t seem remotely surprised by Lord Voldemort’s words. Again, the Dark Lord wondered what Harry did or didn’t remember in this dream. If the boy did know who the Dark Lord was, then he seemed more concerned about his ill-tempered uncle than the young Tom Riddle beside him. In fact, the boy had a small smirk slowly spreading across his scrawny face. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Don’t like being locked in a cupboard?”_

_The Dark Lord scowled. “You can’t honestly tell me you do? I can see your resentment. You hate it in here just as much as I do.”_

_The little Harry nodded at that. “I probably hate it more than you do. But like I said, you get used to it.”_

_“Open this door!”_

_Harry instantly looked up at the underside of the stairs. “Keep your voice down, or they’ll hear you.”_

_The Dark Lord wasn’t sure if the nightmare version of Harry’s uncle would be able to harm him, but since the nightmare version of the door was presenting such an obstacle he didn’t really want to risk it. He lowered his voice before he spoke again. “Harry, you will open this door!” He used the most commanding voice he had, which even as a teenager had been almost impossible for others to resist._

_Of course, Harry had always been the exception to everything. The frail little six-year-old actually rolled his eyes at the forceful command. “I don’t take orders from you. Besides, I don’t need to get out of here. I can just lay on this stupid little cot, close my eyes, and pretend I’m somewhere else. I did it for ten years. I can do it again.”_

_Despite his usual calm demeanor within these dreams, Lord Voldemort was quickly losing his patience. He was about to start shouting, until he heard a loud grumble coming from the boy’s stomach. Perhaps he had a way to persuade him, after all. “It sounds like you’re hungry. If you want to eat, you’ll need to find a way to unlock this door.”_

_Again, Harry simply smirked at him. “No, I don’t.” He crawled off the cot, pushing the teenaged dark lord out of his way, and reached under the lowest shelf in the other corner of the cupboard. He pulled up a loose floorboard to reveal a few apples, a banana, and a handful of crackers. “I’ve been hoarding food in here since I was four. The Dursley’s sometimes forget to feed me when I’ve been locked in here for a day or two.”_

_“They forget to feed you?”_

_Harry simply shrugged. “Sometimes. But Aunt Petunia always tries to get Dudley to eat an apple or a banana with his afternoon snack and he always throws it away when she’s not looking. So, I just dig them out before Petunia can find them.” The boy was smiling, clearly proud of his ingenuity._

_However, the Dark Lord could not have felt less like smiling. “You eat food out of the rubbish bin?”_

_Suddenly, the smile on the young boy’s face vanished, to be replaced by a very different expression. If Lord Voldemort didn’t know better, he would guess it was shame, but what would the boy possibly be ashamed about? But then he knew. He understood Harry Potter as easily as he understood himself._

_The boy was embarrassed and ashamed. He was ashamed that he spent his childhood at the mercy of his pathetic and hateful muggle relatives. He was embarrassed that he spent so many nights locked in a small, dusty cupboard with no means of escape. He was humiliated that he had only survived by eating food stolen from the garbage. He was mortified by his own life, and Lord Voldemort understood those feelings perfectly, because they were his own._

_Lord Voldemort was ashamed that he had spent his childhood as the mercy of the hateful muggles who ran that pathetic orphanage. He was embarrassed that he spent so many nights in a decrepit building that wreaked of poverty and was always drowned in the sounds of children screaming and crying. He was humiliated that he had only survived on war time food rations and huddling overnight in concrete bomb shelters as the Blitz ravaged London._

_The Dark Lord looked down at Harry, who was staring at his apple as if he were too embarrassed to eat it, and yet too hungry not to. “It’s ok,” the dark wizard felt himself saying. “I won’t tell anyone.” Harry simply looked at him, his eyes full of suspicion. Lord Voldemort simply smiled, and he was amazed that the smile was actually genuine. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a genuine smile for anything that wasn’t another person suffering. “I understand why you don’t want anyone else to know about…all of this. Your uncle, the cupboard, the food. Your secret is safe with me.”_

_Harry watched him for a long moment, probably trying to assess his motives. However, in the end, Harry seemed to accept what he was saying, and gave a slight nod, as if he, too, understood. Then he turned his attention back to the smudged apple and took a large bite._


	9. Potential Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take a moment to thank my betas, Michele and Natalie. You guys are the greatest!

Remus Lupin sat in the far corner of The Last Call, as he waited for his contact to arrive. This was now the third time that he would meet with his werewolf contact, Erwin Sykes, and the man had yet to show up to a single meeting even remotely on time. _Ten_ minutes after the man was supposed to arrive, the barman finally limped over. “Oh, it’s you again.”

Remus attempted a friendly smile. “Yes, me again. I’ll take the usual: a butterbeer, please.”

The humpbacked barman scowled at him. “Ain’t got no butterbeers left.”

Remus furrowed his brow. “You don’t have any left?”

The barman shook his gnarled head and explained. “I only ever ‘ad the three bottles. You drank ‘em all the last few visits. Ain’t got none left.”

“And you didn’t think to restock them?”

The barman just shrugged. “To be honest, I was sort of ‘oping you wouldn’t come back. You sort of bring down the whole feel of the place jus’ by sittin’ ‘ere.”

“How do I…” But before he could finish, he was interrupted by a playful and familiar voice.

“He’ll take a firewhiskey and soda, and I’ll have the same.” The bartender turned around to see Nymphadora Tonks sidling up to the table. She was dressed in her usual chunky boots, with ripped stockings and an overlong purple coat. Despite the fact that her clothes matched her usual look, and her face was the same as always, the rest of her appeared completely different. Her hair was long and blonde, her eyes were a vibrant purple, and her ears were long and pointed, like elf ears.

Despite her short frame, she lifted her chin and gave the bartender such a challenging look that he merely nodded his head and said, “Yes, miss. Right away, miss.”

Dora sat down in the empty seat opposite Remus as the wizened old proprietor shuffled away. Remus sighed. “Am I the only one who he questions?”

Dora glanced around the pub at the other patrons, taking in the hags, the half-elves, the vampires, and someone who looked about three-quarter troll, before she turned her attention back to Remus. “It’s all in the attitude.”

“Well, whatever it is, I clearly lack it.” Once again, the bartender gave Remus a suspicious look as he set down the drinks, but nodded respectfully at Dora when she handed over her sickles. Once the barman was out of earshot, Remus gave her an exasperated look. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Tonks just gave a playful wink. “It’s 1996, Remus. It’s alright if a girl pays for drinks.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I shouldn’t be drinking alcohol before an important meeting.” Remus eyed the glass but didn’t take a sip. “And speaking of meetings, you shouldn’t be here to begin with, even if you are in disguise.”

Nymphadora just smirked as she pushed Remus’s glass closer to him. “I came to help. I wasn’t going to, but then I ran into my cousin the other day.”

“What are you…” but Dora didn’t let him finish.

“Narcissa’s son, the Malfoy boy. He was chatting with Harry.”

Remus’s eyes widened. “You saw Harry?”

Dora just continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “They were getting along. Or at least they weren’t fighting.” Again, Remus tried to ask about Harry, but Dora just cut him off. “I figured if those two can stand to be around each other, I can at least try putting up with your nonsense. At least for an important mission that you _obviously_ need help with. Even if I am still annoyed with you.”

“Look, Dora, you know I’ll always care about…”

“Don’t,” she sighed. “I get it. You don’t want anything serious. You don’t want to let yourself be happy. You don’t want to drop your guard. You don’t want to hurt anyone. Let’s not talk about it right now.” Remus turned away, feeling guilty, but then his eyes fell on the other patrons and he saw them shrewdly eying him up, so he turned back toward her. He was surprised to see Dora was smiling, even if the smile seemed sad. “In the meantime,” she pushed the glass even further toward Remus, “It’s already paid for, you might as well drink it.”

Remus smiled back at her and lifted the glass. “I’m still not sure how responsible it is to imbibe right before a meeting with an important contact.”

Dora gave him a bemused look. “If you don’t want to drink, why do you keep meeting him at a pub?”

Remus gave in and finally took and small sip. The fizzy soda did help soften the bite of the firewhiskey. “I didn’t pick this place, obviously, Erwin Sykes did.”

Dora took a large swig of her drink before leaning on her elbow with her chin propped to the side. “So, who this infamous alpha werewolf I keep hearing about? Do I ever get to meet this Erwin Sykes fellow?”

“I’m Erwin Sykes.” Both Remus and Dora jumped and turned at the voice. Dora’s jaw dropped, and Remus couldn’t help but chuckle at her shocked expression. It took a lot to shock Dora, but this person was clearly the last thing she expected when she had heard about an important ally in the war against Voldemort.

In a word, Erwin Sykes was burly. He seemed more bear-like than wolf-like. Even though he wasn’t particularly tall, he still managed to seem larger than life, but maybe that was more due to his long, wild beard, or his heavily muscled arms, or his overlarge, faded leather coat. His coat wasn’t the only thing faded about him. His walnut brown beard had several streaks of grey, the lunar tattoo on his neck had gone pale with age, his clothes had several holes and patches, and his hair had a large bald spot on top.

Despite being past his prime, Erwin Sykes oozed the brashness of a man who had always been the biggest fish in his small pond. He was using his sharp nails to pick at his teeth with hardly a care, barely sparing Remus or Dora a glance. “Remus,” he gave half a nod. “You look terrible as always.” Remus pursed his lips but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t untrue. The younger werewolf hadn’t been sleeping well lately and he probably looked ill. “I see you brought a friend this time.”

Remus stood to make introductions. “Oh, yes, Erwin, it’s good to see you again. This is…” He wasn’t sure if he should give her real name. If Erwin pieced together that Nymphadora was an Auror working for the Ministry, he’d be out of there before she could even open her mouth. “…another member of the Order. She goes by Dora.”

Dora usually preferred people to call her Tonks. There were very few people that she allowed to call her Dora, but she seemed to understand his apprehension, so she just offered a “Nice to meet you,” and stood to shake his hand.

Before Erwin could return the gesture, however, the three of them heard a loud “Sykes!” called over from the bar. They turned to see two extremely predatory young men shoving their way past a few drunken satyrs. The two men elbowing their way to their table had mattered hair and filthy teeth, which made them look even wilder than Erwin. The ruffian on the right, with dark, almost black hair, spoke again. “Funny seein’ you here, Sykes, and in such pathetic company.”

The troublemaker on the left, a slightly shorter young man with sandy hair, glared at them all and squared his shoulders, ready for a fight. “Yeah, Sykes, what’s a wolf like you doin’ with Dumbledore’s lapdog and some purple fairy?”

“Fairy?” Dora muttered beside Remus. “I don’t even have wings. If anything, I’m a nymph.”

Erwin Sykes didn’t look at all affected by the arrival of other two werewolves. “Well, if it isn’t Howler and Grady?” Despite the fact that they were both taller than him, Erwin somehow managed to appear as though he were looking down on them. “Not that it’s any business of a couple pups barely out of puberty, but I’m here at this pub to enjoy a pint. Imagine that? Who I choose to keep company with is my own matter and you two can very well bugger off back to Fanghorn.”

The two young men, Howler and Grady, stalked closer, slowly and carefully, chuckling as they went. “Oh, Sykes, we’re not part of Fanghorn’s pack anymore,” the dark-haired man, Howler, explained.

“Yeah, we moved up in the world,” oozed the sandy-haired man, Grady.

Howler’s chuckling grew in volume and became even more ominous. The other patrons around the pub, who had been giving them sneaking glances, were all staring openly now. “We’re in Greyback’s pack now. So be careful who you call a ‘pup’ old man.”

“Yeah, now answer the question,” Grady demanded. “Greyback’s struck a deal with the Dark Lord. He’s gonna make things right for all us wolves. So, what’s a pack leader like you doin’ with this house-trained mutt?”

Remus slowly and discretely slid his hand into his pocket and curled his fingers around his wand. He could see Dora, beside him, already angling her body into a dueling position. Erwin, on the other hand, simply grabbed Remus’s firewhiskey and soda from the table and finished it off with one long swig, before slamming the empty glass down. “At least Remus here knows how to show proper respect for his elders. Besides, Greyback can strike all the deals he likes, he doesn’t speak for me. I run my own pack, and if I don’t want to fight some wizard’s war, he’s sure as hell not going to volunteer me.”

Howler suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Erwin by the scruff of his collar. “You might still be an alpha, _for now_ , but even the other alphas ain’t no match for Greyback. So, if you and your pitiful pack wanna tuck your tails between your legs like a bunch a’ bloody cowards, that’s your right. But don’t you dare waltz around with Dumbledore’s trained pet like it’s not a betrayal to your own kind.”

Grady, who looked more like a weasel than a wolf, slinked up beside Howler to try and intimidate Erwin even more, but Erwin didn’t even seem to notice him. Remus was more than ready for a fight, but Erwin was still smirking at the taller werewolves, as if he was exactly where he wanted to be. “You pups have no idea what it means to betray your own kind.”

Howler snarled. “I warned you not to call me a pup!” He raised his hand, with his nails out, looking much more like claws than human nails. The moment he bared his claws, Dora couldn’t take any more. Before anyone else could react, she raised her wand and sent a blast, knocking both the younger werewolves backward, into a table filled with drinks.

The three hooded figures that had been sitting around the table, all jumped up when two werewolves suddenly slammed into the flimsy piece of furniture. The wood snapped in two as the foamy drinks spilled everywhere. The hooded figures all hissed and one even looked like they were about to curse the two werewolves. That is, until Grady lifted his hand toward the candle on a nearby table.

Suddenly the small candle flame burst into a ball of fire, bigger than a crystal ball. The three cloaked figures instantly stepped back out of the way of the growing fireball. Grady smirked at the engorged candle flame, watching it grow and twist around on itself while in his control. Once the fire seemed to settle into a relative sphere, Grady swiped his paw and the ball of flame went hurling toward Dora.

Dora was so shocked at what she was seeing, she managed to trip over a chair in her attempt to dodge the spell. Remus’s arm shot out to steady her. He pushed her head down as the fireball flew over them, hitting the far wall and catching the drapes aflame.

“Over here!” Erwin shouted. Remus dragged Dora toward the relative safety of that voice. Erwin had already knocked a large, square table over onto its side and was hiding behind it. Remus ducked behind as well, pulling Dora with him. Another fireball flew over their heads. Remus pointed his wand at the wooden table and transfigured it into stone, just in case their aim got better.

As soon as they had cover, Remus lifted his wand over the top of their makeshift barricade and sent a hex toward the two younger wolves. They were already running toward the bar as the hex flew over their heads. They dove over the ledge and behind the counter.

The poor humpbacked barman was scurrying to the backroom as fast has he could hobble. Most of the rest of the clientele seemed to realize that this wasn’t going to be resolved quickly or quietly, and were making for the exits. The smell of stale beer and other questionable fluids was quickly getting covered with the scent of burning wood and smoke.

Dora still seemed in a state of shock over what had just happened. “He threw fire at me…without a wand! How is that even possible?”

Erwin didn’t seem to understand her confusion, so Remus explained. “A lot of werewolves can do some simple element manipulation without a wand. They call it ‘wolf magic,’ but it’s really just very basic Elemental Magic. Nothing fancy, of course, but it’s effective.”

Another small fireball came shooting their way, and Remus used his wand to divert it toward a window, where it smashed the glass. He frowned. There had to be a less destructive way to deal with those.

Dora was still wrapping her head around the concept of ‘wolf magic.’ “They’re doing Elemental Magic? But that’s a type of Ancient Magic! That’s illegal.”

Erwin, who was casually leaning against the underside of the table and picking at his teeth yet again, just scoffed at Dora’s confusion. “Illegal? Maybe with the Wizard Ministry, but if you’re living out in the woodlands, just you and the wild, there’s no one who’s going to tell you not to call on the elements if you need to.”

As another fireball came flying toward them, Remus cast his strongest shield spell. The flaming ball bounced off the shield. It hurled into a far corner where a couple of vampires were lurking, probably hoping to feed off whoever was left standing. They ducked out of the way just in the nick of time. The bloodsuckers seemed to realize that there were easier ways to get a free meal. Without further ado, they slithered toward the exit, leaving the bar bereft of potential witnesses.

Before Remus could reinforce his shield, Howler sent another fireball, larger than Grady’s. Dora jumped up and cast a shield of her own. The fireball deflected toward a table, which blasted into burnt wood chips.

Remus tried hitting the wolves with another hex, but they managed to dodge it just in time. When Grady prepared another fireball, Remus prepared a modified shield charm. “Aguamenti Protego!” The fireball slammed into a shield of water, but suddenly a blast of hot steam was coming straight for Remus. He raised his wand again to divert it, but Dora was already blowing it away with a powerful gust of wind.

Erwin had scooted back, almost to the next table, in order to get a better view of the fight. “You two are pretty good at this.”

Dora raised another water shield and glared back at Erwin. “A little help might be nice.”

Erwin just shrugged, as unaffected as always. “This isn’t my fight, I already told Remus I’m not picking sides in some wizard war.”

This time, Remus was the one who deflected the steam from the doused fireball. “Erwin, be reasonable, these two are shooting fireballs at you, as well.”

Erwin scowled at him. “Only because you two pulled out wands like a couple of bloody wizards.”

This time Remus tried capturing the fireball in an ‘Immobulus,’ but that simply caused it to burst with pent-up energy and shatter several chairs. Dora, meanwhile, was gaping at Erwin again, completely baffled by his words. “Wait,” she asked, “You don’t have a wand?”

Remus just rolled his eyes as he tried again to hex the two obnoxious werewolves. He missed, yet again. “Don’t listen to him, Dora. He’s got a wand; I’ve seen it.” Remus glanced over his shoulder at Erwin for just a moment, before returning his full attention to the two fireballs that were coming at the same time. “I don’t know what your problem is with wands, Erwin. Lots of werewolves have them. I know Greyback’s got one, as well.”

Erwin frowned as he watched Remus shield one blast and divert the other. “Sure, I’ve got a wand, I even passed my OWLs. Not many werewolves can say that. But I’d never pull out a bloody wand to settle a score between wolves. When I have a problem with another wolf, I fight him like a wolf, not with this wand nonsense. You two should’ve stayed out of it. I could’ve wiped the floor with those two upstarts. But no, you two had to pull out wands and start a whole magic duel. Well, you two started this mess, you can finish it.”

This time, Howler and Grady took the time to grow a fireball together, building up a blast the size of a large cauldron and hurling it at Remus and Dora. Dora reacted first. “Glacius!” she called. The fireball instead became of ball of ice, still hurtling toward them.

“Reducto!” Remus yelled, shattering the ball and sending chunks of ice scattering across the pub.

Remus and Dora ducked behind the stone table just in time to dodge the flying ice. Erwin was giving them a nod of approval. “Although, I’ll admit, your method is pretty effective.”

While Remus tried to throw a few hexes, Dora kept her attention on Erwin. “Look, Mr. Sykes, I get why you don’t want to involve yourself in a wizard’s war, but this war isn’t exactly just for wizards. Greyback has already joined with You-Know-Who, and I think a lot of other creatures have already picked one side or the other. Aren’t you kind of involved already?”

Erwin leaned over to the nearest table and picked up a half-full pint that a couple of hags had left behind. He took a slow, deep swig. “I get what you’re saying, miss. I don’t like the sound of this Dark Lord fellow, and I don’t trust him further than I can throw him.” He took another sip while Dora diverted another fireball. “But I’m also not looking to make any powerful enemies. Least of all Greyback, who may be a bastard, but his name still has a lot of weight among the werewolf packs.”

This time, Dora shot a preemptive freezing spell, to block the next fireball that came their way. It worked to block a couple of the balls, but once again left huge chunks of shattered ice around the establishment. Dora huffed in exasperation when another fireball appeared over the counter. “They’re not very creative, are they?”

Remus nodded in agreement, as they turned yet another fireball into steam. “I think they only really know a couple elemental spells, and they just keep sending their most destructive one over and over again.” Remus tried to hit the young men with another ‘Stupefy.’ Yet again, their wolf-like reflexes helped them dodge the spell.

Dora seemed to be growing impatient with the entire scenario, so she turned back to Erwin, who was finishing another pint glass. “I thought you were some big, respected werewolf. Can’t you stand up to Greyback and his pack?”

Erwin shrugged. “I’ve got some respect, but no wolf in Britain can match Greyback. I’m an alpha, sure, and my pack is the largest in England in terms of numbers. But lots of the members of my pack are families. A lot of women and children, old folks, general peaceful sort. People respect me because I’m learned and patient, at least compared to some of these whippersnappers you see rising in the ranks these days.”

Erwin paused to give Dora time to cast another ‘Aguamenti Protego.’ “But all the wolves cower before Greyback. He’s strong, and he’s ruthless, and he’s bloody determined to forge a new path for all werewolves. Not to mention, he’s turned almost half of them himself. He’s got a whole pack full of some of the toughest werewolves you’ve ever met, a lot meaner than these two hot heads. Most of his pack could have been alphas in their own right.” Erwin set down his empty pint glass and started looking around, probably for more free drinks. “Plus, when Greyback talks about his big plans for how werewolves will be free of Ministry control and able to hunt all they want, a lot of wolves like what they hear.”

Dora gave him a skeptical look. “A lot of werewolves who aren’t you?”

Erwin managed to find another unfinished pint glass and savored another slow swig before answering. “I’ll admit I like the sound of change.”

Remus was also losing patience with the two young werewolves who simply would not let up in their barrage of fireballs. “Dora, can you just deflect all these stupid blasts while I try to get a straight shot?” He glanced over his shoulder. “And Erwin, I already told you, the Order is trying to change things, too. Dumbledore wants equal rights for werewolves. Maybe not to hunt muggles all they want, but to be equal citizens under the Ministry.”

Erwin spat up his drink with an affronted laugh. “Oh goody, more Ministry regulations! The Ministry’s already got ideas for us, or did you forget, Remus? They’re trying to pass that law that would make us all Dark Creatures. We’ll be hunted down like bloody animals this time next year.”

Remus was quickly losing his temper with the entire situation. “That’s not going to happen! Dumbledore isn’t going to let that happen!”

“Says you.”

Remus stood up straight. “That’s it, I’m sick of this.” Dora diverted two more fireballs, while Remus levelled his wand at the bar. “Bombarda Maxima!”

A wave of explosive energy shot from the tip of Remus’s wand and tore through the pub, knocking away any furniture or glassware that happened to be in its way, on its swift journey to the bar. When the spell collided with the counter of the bar, the shockwave caused all the glass on the shelf beyond to shatter. The counter itself exploded with an ear-splitting bang.

Remus and Dora were both knocked off their feet. Erwin was left gaping as the force of the explosion cracked his pint glass and spilled what little ale was left.

As soon as the smoke cleared, and the dust settled, the three of them peered over the stone table that the destruction. They could clearly see the unconscious forms of Howler and Grady, very successfully knocked out. The steady rise and fall of their chests was the only sign that they would wake again. It was Erwin who broke the silence. “What the hell was that?” Remus just shrugged but Erwin looked beyond impressed. “I never knew you had it in you!”

Dora couldn’t help the proud smile the stretched over her face. “He’s full of surprises.”

Erwin looked Remus up and down as if seeing him for the first time. “Alright kid, you’ve impressed me. I’ll tell you what, if your pal Dumbledore really gets this werewolf bill knocked down, then I’ll arrange something.”

Remus gave him an unimpressed look. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

Erwin just smirked, completely unphased by Remus’s skepticism. “There are some wolves, in my pack and others, who are pretty skeptical of this Dark Lord bloke, and Greyback as well. I’ll arrange it so you can talk to them. I’m not making any promises. It’s you that’ll have to convince them, but at least you’ll have your foot in the door.”

Remus nodded. “That’s all I need.”

Erwin glanced over at Dora, still looking quite unusual with her purple eyes and elf ears. “Bring your girlfriend, too. I like her; she’s a little spitfire.”

“She’s not my…” but Dora interrupted him.

“We’re just friends.”

Erwin didn’t seem to care. “Whatever.”

Remus tried to be the voice of reason. “You know she’s not a werewolf, right?”

Erwin looked back over at Dora with clear amusement in his eyes. “That’s ok, look at her. She gets it.”

Dora smirked, and nudged her ‘friend.’ “Do you hear that, Remus? I get it.”

“Uh huh.”

Erwin gave one last glance around at the smoldering and dilapidated pub. The whole place now reeked of fire and death, but to be fair, it was an improvement to what it had smelled like. “You two sure know how to leave your mark. Anyway, I’ll contact you if the bill fails, otherwise, don’t bother.” With that, the burly old man turned and made his way out the door without so much as a ‘goodbye.’

As soon as Erwin had left, Remus and Dora slowly looked around at the destruction they had caused. Erwin wasn’t kidding, they really had left a mark; almost no corner had been spared. There were only a couple chairs that hadn’t been shattered, and the tables were all lying in fragments. There didn’t seem to be a single piece of useable glassware left in the entire establishment. All across the floor and ceiling, there were scorch marks, intermixed with clinging chunks of ice. It was quite a sight.

Dora turned her attention to the two unconscious werewolves. “Should we arrest them? Or take them in for questioning?”

Remus shook his head. “I doubt those two idiots would know anything useful. And we can’t arrest them, either. The Ministry can’t know we were here meeting with werewolves, and if word gets out that the Order of the Phoenix is turning over werewolves to the Ministry, we’ll never get another meeting again. I suppose we’ll just leave them to wake up on their own, although I can’t imagine how sore they’ll feel when they finally come to.”

Dora nodded, looking around some more. “Well, should we, I don’t know, clean up?”

Just then, the two of them heard a shuffling noise, and turned to see the humpbacked bartender hobbling back into the main floor of the pub. “What the ‘ell happened ‘ere?”

Remus blushed. “Oh, er, well sir, you see…”

Dora interrupted. “They started it.” She pointed to the two very still forms of Howler and Grady. At least the two were clearly breathing, slow and steady.

The bartender lifted his eyebrows, causing his face to look even more gnarled and wrinkled. “Well, you two sure as ‘ell finished it. Look what you did to my bar!”

Remus tried stalling, he wasn’t quite sure how to make this right, but he was determined to try and help. “Look, I understand you’re upset…”

“Upset?” the wizened man spat out. “I’ve never seen this much destruction in me life! You two are welcome back ‘ere any time you like!”

“Huh?” Dora gaped.

Remus wasn’t much better. “I’m sorry, what?”

The old man was looking all around now, all the while nodding happily. “I’ve seen a lot of pub fights in my time, but never one like this. You two did a real number. You scared off all the usuals, even the vampires, and that takes some doin’. At this rate, I’ll ‘ave _the_ most disreputable alehouse in all of Knockturn Alley!”

“Yeah!” Dora cheered. “Good on you!”

Remus sighed. “Don’t encourage this.”

However, Dora had already gotten into the swing of things. “If you want, we can smash a couple more windows on our way out?”

The bartender actually seemed to consider that. “Aw, better not. Don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard, you know?”

Dora nodded. “Makes sense.”

Remus did not agree. “No. No part of this makes sense.”

The bartender was already taking note of what would need to be repaired and replaced. “You two ‘ad better move along before the Aurors show up. But remember, you’re welcome back ‘ere any time.”

Dora tried not to chuckle, as Remus was wrapping his head around the ridiculousness of the situation. “Really? _Now_ he likes me?”

Dora grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the front door. “Come on, Remus, let’s go before he changes his mind.”

***

_A couple weeks had passed since Harry’s discussion with Ron and Hermione where the three of them had agreed to study occlumency together. Nothing had really come from that discussion, except Hermione had begun scouring the library for any books she could find on occlumency, shielding the mind, or simply Mind Magic in general._

_She was at it again that Saturday afternoon. Meanwhile, Harry and Ron tried to make as much progress as they could on the Charms essay that Hermione had already finished while the two of them were at Quidditch practice. Harry was already so tired from practice that he could barely keep his eyes open. He’d reread the same passage from his Charms book about six times without taking in the meaning, and was about to start his seventh attempt when he heard a voice call, “Harry.”_

_Harry looked over at Ron to see if his friend had been the one to speak, but suddenly realized that Ron was no longer next to him. Harry looked around their small back corner of the library and could see no one else around. “Harry…” The voice was definitely coming from behind the bookshelves. Harry stood up and started looking through the stacks of books to see if he could find Hermione anywhere. She was always in the library, but not today apparently._

_“Harry.” There was that voice again. Harry followed it to the very back of the library, never encountering another person. Finally, he stopped at the gates of the Restricted Section. Madam Pince normally always kept it locked and would only let students through after suspiciously examining whatever signed note they handed over. Yet for some reason, the gates were hanging wide open today._

_“Hello?” Harry glanced through the shelves of Dark books, filled with forbidden secrets. Harry hadn’t actually been in this section since his fourth year when he was researching ways to breath under water. “Is anyone there?”_

_“Harry…” Again, that enticing voice called to him, and Harry couldn’t help but follow his curiosity. He passed the threshold and no irate librarian came to scold him. He walked on and on past the shelves and Harry noticed something very different about the Restricted Section. For some reason, it suddenly had a lot more books in it. The shelves which had always been half-stocked at best, were now filled to the brim. Where had all these books come from?_

_“Harry.” He followed the voice all the way to the deepest, darkest corner of the restricted section and came to an abrupt halt when he saw none other than Tom Riddle. The handsome young man was leaning casually with his back to the nearest bookshelf. In his hand was a tattered old book. Despite the previous dreams, where Harry could never make out the titles of the books he saw, he could clearly read the words on the cover of the text in Riddle’s arms: ‘Secrets of the Darkest Arts.’_

_“What?” Harry wasn’t sure how to properly formulate a question, but Riddle didn’t seem in a sharing mood anyway. The taller young man simply gave him a wicked smirk and winked at him. Then he turned and set the book back on the shelf in between ‘Fifteenth Century Fiends’ and ‘Magick Most Foul.’_

***

THUMP. Harry’s eyes flew open when Hermione slammed a stack of books on the table. Ron knocked over his inkwell in his surprise. “What the – .”

Hermione was already interrupting him, her hand on the stack of books. “I have now combed through the library four times trying find anything related to the subject of occlumency. I have found a total of _one_ book that even _mentions_ it, and these are all the books I could find that talk about Mind Magic at all.”

Harry gaped. “That’s _all_ the books? There’s only five. Are you sure you didn’t miss any?”

Ron was busy trying to ‘Tergeo’ his spilled ink before it reached his half-finished essay, but he still had the wherewithal to act indignant of Hermione’s behalf. “Harry, first off, never question Hermione’s ability to find books in the Hogwarts Library. I mean, that’s kind of her whole thing.”

Hermione looked almost too proud of that. “Aw, thank you, Ron.”

“Second, mate, what’s wrong with you?” Ron stoppered his, now clean, inkwell. “Less books means less reading. Why would you complain about not _enough_ books?”

Hermione’s expression turned into a disapproving frown. “Well, I happen to agree with Harry.”

“That you’d like more books?” Ron laughed. “There’s a surprise.”

Hermione pulled up a chair and frowned at her stack. “Well, I mean, that there should be more books on the mind arts in general. This is _all_ I found.” She gave them an almost apologetic look. “Not only that, but I’ve skimmed through these five and it seems they mostly just cover the general theory. There’s almost nothing about any practical application.”

Harry turned back to his Charms essay. If the books were just theoretical, they would be useless for them. Ron, on the other hand, was already reading over the titles one at a time. Of course, Ron would cling to any excuse to put off doing homework. “So, there’s nothing on how to actually _do_ occlumency at all?”

Hermione suddenly stood up again. “I mean, I haven’t read them all word for word yet, but I think all these books only talk about Mind Magic in really vague and broad terms.” Despite her words about how unhelpful the books would be, she still began packing them in her bag. “That’s why I want to go to that room of hidden things that Harry talked about. I have a feeling the books there will be more useful.”

Harry was a little shocked that Hermione would be so willing to search for books that were probably against school rules. But then, she had never been one to turn down useful sources of information. So, he and Ron dutifully began packing their things as well.

Harry still wasn’t convinced that the Occlumency books in the Room of Requirement would be any more useful. The books on dream magic hadn’t helped anything. “Are you sure those books will be any better?”

Hermione finished packing all her texts away and began applying several charms to lighten the load. “I mean, I suppose it’s possible that all books on Mind Magic are just vague and obtuse. However, I have a different theory. I believe the practical books aren’t available to students. The mind arts are quite complex, and if they’re not attempted correctly, they can have disastrous consequences. Not to mention, a dark wizard could use them to drive someone insane, or tear apart their mind, or even torture someone mentally.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Occlumency itself is one of the simpler Mind Magics, and you can really only hurt yourself if you mess it up too badly, but there are far scarier things in that branch of magic.”

Harry suddenly remembered that Malfoy had mentioned that Mind Magic could be considered part of the Dark Arts, and now he could see why.

Ron paled as he grabbed his bag, obviously a lot more apprehensive about this than his other two friends. “Merlin, Hermione, maybe we shouldn’t be messing with this stuff, then?”

“I can see your point, Weasley.” All three Gryffindors turned at that snide voice. As if the thought of him had simply made him materialize, Draco Malfoy sidled up behind Harry and Ron. He had a derisive smirk on his face. “Your brain isn’t exactly working at full efficiency as it is, you probably don’t want to risk any further damage.”

Ron scowled. “The hell are you doing here, Malfoy?”

The young man in question had a look of mock confusion on his face. “In the school library? Obviously, I’m here to torture first year Hufflepuffs with dark curses. Maybe, if I have time, I’ll raise the dead. What else could I possibly be doing in the _school library_? Since, apparently, no Slytherin would _ever_ do homework…or study.”

Harry tried not to smirk at Malfoy’s cheek, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was. “If you’re so busy doing homework and studying, why aren’t you sitting in a chair with a book in your hand? Why are you here? At this table? Bothering us?”

At Harry’s words, Malfoy’s attention immediately diverted to him, and his expression became much less guarded. He could probably see the ghost of a smile on Harry’s face. “I have another book for you. I wasn’t going to mention it in front of your…friends, but since you’re obviously ok with discussing Mind Magic with them in the middle of the student library, I figured subtlety doesn’t really matter to you.”

Harry frowned at the Slytherin. He, Ron, and Hermione weren’t exactly in the middle of a bunch of students, gossiping carelessly about mind arts. They were in a quiet corner without anyone else around. The only way Malfoy would have heard them was if he had been eavesdropping. However, Harry didn’t really feel the need to point this out, especially since he had so obviously spied on Malfoy barely a month ago on the Hogwarts Express. “Fine,” Harry shrugged. “Let’s see your book.”

Hermione looked extremely nervous and Ron looked like his bottom jaw might fall off, but Malfoy didn’t seem at all surprised by Harry’s response. “Not here,” he countered. “You never know who might be watching.”

“Ok then,” Harry pulled his bag over his shoulder. “Thanks for wasting our time. Now, if you don’t mind, we were just leaving.” Harry turned to make his way toward the exit, and Ron and Hermione immediately followed after him.

Harry was not particularly surprised to see that Malfoy was trailing after them as well. What did surprise him was how much it didn’t bother him.

Ron, however, did not seem as though he was going to tolerate having his back exposed to the son of a Death Eater. “Get out of here, you wanker, before I hex you all the way to the hospital wing.”

“Ronald!” Hermione scolded, glancing around to see if Madam Pince had heard him.

Malfoy just laughed at that. “Oh, by all means Weasley, do go ahead and attack a Prefect in front of all these convenient witnesses.” He gestured to the tables of students they passed on their way out of the library. “I’m not threatening you. I’m not breaking any rules. The library is a public space and I can walk around if I want.”

Harry held the library door for Ron and Hermione, but Malfoy caught it before Harry could shut it in his face. “What _do_ you want, Malfoy?” Harry asked when he found himself, yet again, face to face with the blonde. “I thought you wanted a truce. I thought you didn’t want to get involved. Why are you following me around and being weirdly nice and offering to lend me your stupid books?”

Malfoy looked deeply annoyed by the question, but calmly shut the library door behind him. “If you think my books are so stupid, you’re welcome to give them back. How foolish of me to try and apologize for my past misdeeds by lending you books from my personal library.”

Before Harry could retort, Ron practically choked. “You? Apologize? You are so full of…”

Hermione shoved Ron aside before he could finish that thought. “Books? What books?” She was looking at Malfoy like she had never looked at him before. She had the same expression on her face as when she had secured her first ever permission slip to get into the Restricted Section. The same expression as when Dobby had shown them the Room of Requirement and all the defensive books in the DA’s headquarters. Hermione Granger had just found a new well of knowledge, and she wasn’t going to let up until it was drained dry.

Malfoy, for his part, did not seem to appreciate the hungry gleam in her eye. However, after assessing the bushy brunette for a moment, his expression slowly morphed into a calculated grin. “What books are you looking for?”

Harry really didn’t trust that silky tone, but Hermione pounced on the question. “Do you have any books on occlumency?”

Malfoy’s eyes widened as he tried to keep the shock off his face. Clearly that had not been the answer he expected. “You want to learn occlumency?”

Harry wasn’t sure how this had become a conversation between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, but Ron seemed equally unsure of what to say. Hermione’s demeanor suddenly changed. As soon as Malfoy asked the question, she instantly tried to look aloof and disinterested. She gave an uncaring shrug. “Perhaps.” It was as if she were haggling and had just realized she shouldn’t seem too eager. “Is that something you would know anything about?”

Malfoy’s smug sneer was downright predatory. He had the upper hand and he knew it. “I know occlumency. I’m quite good at it.”

“Liar!” Ron finally couldn’t hold back any longer. “Prove it!”

Malfoy’s lips turned back downward when he turned toward Ron. “And how do expect me to prove to you that I can defend against a mind attack, when (and I’m wildly speculating here) none of you knows how to _properly do legilimency_?”

Just then, the library door opened behind them, and the pug-like face of Pansy Parkinson appeared at Malfoy’s side. Her first instinct was to glare at Harry. “What’s the matter, Chosen Boy? Don’t get enough attention from the other Gryffindors so you have to bother the other houses as well?” Harry didn’t bother with a comeback to such a ridiculous taunt, so she just turned to Malfoy. “Come on, Draco, you said you’d help me with my Transfiguration essay.”

“Not now, Pansy, I’m busy.”

Her face wrinkled in confusion at his words, causing it to look even more like a pug dog. “Busy?” She sneered at each Gryffindor in turn. “With what?”

“Nothing,” Ron answered before Malfoy could explain. “He’s not doing anything. We were just leaving.” Ron immediately turned and began walking away. Harry went ahead and followed him. He figured whatever Malfoy was up to, he wouldn’t want Parkinson to think he was playing nice with the Boy-Who-Lived. So, their conversation was basically over anyway.

Hermione, however, hesitated before she followed the other two. She gave Malfoy a slightly hopeful look. “If you were really serious, then we’re going to _that_ room to look for books on _that_ subject. You’re welcome to join us.”

“He’s what!?”

Harry would never have guessed there would ever come a time when Ron Weasley and Pansy Parkinson shouted the exact same thing at the exact same time, but this year was proving to be full of unexpected surprises. Hermione, for her part, just gave one final nod and then followed Harry and Ron to the end of the corridor.

As soon as the two members of the snake house were out of sight, Harry could still hear them talking.

“Draco? What in Salazar’s name was that about?”

“I’ll explain later Pansy, I have to go.”

“Go? But Draco…”

Just as they were turning another corner, they heard the clipped sounds of expensive shoes hitting the flagstone. Harry could see the blonde walking very quickly, but still very gracefully, to try and catch up with them. Apparently, a Malfoy never runs, regardless of the circumstances.

Harry could hardly believe that Draco Malfoy, of all people, was going to blow off Parkinson to try and help his trio of friends track down books on occlumency. Sure, Malfoy had been acting strange since the summer, but this was just too much. He and Ron stood with their mouths gaping open as the young man made his way to their group.

“Well, let’s get you those books, shall we?”

Once again, Hermione seemed to accept this turn of events much quicker than the boys. She was already walking ahead with Malfoy, while Harry and Ron were left behind, their brains still trying to process this impossible situation. Harry recovered next. With a final shrug, he took off after his friend and his former enemy. It wasn’t until the three of them turned another corner that they heard Ron shout after them. “Hey, wait for me!”

Ron, who took up the rear, kept his wand trained on Malfoy the entire walk to the seventh floor. Hermione, however, was busy attacking the Slytherin with questions. “Alright, Malfoy, if you really know occlumency, then you understand the theory behind it. I want to hear what you understand about the theory, and if it matches what I’ve read in my books, then I’ll know that you actually know what you’re talking about.”

 “Alright, Granger, let’s see if this matches your little books.” Malfoy turned his head so they could see his face lit up by the low torches. He had a grim look on his face, like he was about to tell a ghost story over the campfire. “Listen up, Potter, because you might actually learn something. Everyone’s mind, magic, body, and soul are linked in a connection that is both lose and seemingly variable, while also being tightly interwoven. I’m not sure if anyone fully understands the depths of those connections.”

This sounded reasonable, but Harry and Ron glanced at Hermione to verify that Malfoy was on the right track. She didn’t say anything to the contrary, so the blonde continued his explanation. “That’s why Mind Magic, Soul Magic, and Blood Magic are so dangerous and can be so unpredictable. They tap into the connection between your mind and your magic, or your soul and your magic, or whatever.”

They made their way to the end of the passage and moved on to a wider corridor filled with tapestries. Malfoy tilted his head at just the right angle so the firelight accentuated his sharp features. “The best way to really (correctly) perform Mind Magic is to first tap into your own mind. Understand it fully. Feel every corner of your own mind. Understand your emotions, your memories, your drives, your desires, your hidden secrets, your thoughts, every single thing about your own mind, even the parts you’d rather not think about. Then you need to understand your magic. Explore it, feel it, immerse yourself in it.”

Hermione was listening with rapt attention, nodding along like she did during particularly interesting lectures. Even Ron seemed to get swept up in Malfoy’s little speech. “So, how do you do that then? Explore your mind and magic and all that?”

“There are techniques for that. I can teach you.” Malfoy looked like he was quite enjoying being the center of attention, having the Gryffindors hang on his every word, like the Slytherins so often did. “Anyway, once you’ve gotten control over your mind and your magic, and you understand them both fully, you can start to find the ways that they link together, or even create new links. As you start to control your mind, your magic will respond with it. For occlumency, you simply need to try and clear your mind, and your magic will respond and create a magical shield to block your inner thoughts from others. If you get particularly good at it, you can even create new, false, memories and magically send them to others when they try to see your mind.”

Hermione looked rather impressed. “Well, it does seem like he knows what he’s talking about.”

“Yeah,” Ron conceded, but he still didn’t lower his wand. “We might not know much about magic theory, Hermione, but we did actually catch that.”

Both Ron and Hermione seemed somewhat spellbound, but Harry had very personal experience with this subject. “That’s all well and good, Malfoy, but clearing your mind when someone’s trying to rip out your memories isn’t really as simple as all that.”

This time it was Malfoy’s turn to quirk his brow at Harry. “I doubt you’d have any trouble with it. It seems like clearing the mind would come easily to you, Potter.”

Ron’s wand had gone a little slack during Malfoy’s explanation, but it suddenly shot back up to point right at Malfoy’s head. “Don’t listen to him, Harry. He’s just trying to rile you up.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. I’m serious.” He turned back to Harry. “Fourth year: you were the only one in our defense class who was able to fight off the Imperius Curse on the first attempt. And you were the only one able to fully resist it by the end of class. If you can do that, you should be able to control your own mind easily.”

Harry didn’t really understand how those two things had anything to do with each other, but Hermione seemed to agree. “That does make sense, Harry. If you have enough control of your mind to drive away the influence of the Imperius Curse, you should have enough control to drive off any unwanted thoughts.”

Harry couldn’t help but disagree. “I don’t know. I don’t feel very in control of my thoughts or emotions. And I certainly never felt like I just willed the Imperius Curse away. It was more like…there was a voice in my head and I forced myself not to listen to it. The voice never really went away until the person just cancelled the spell.”

Malfoy seemed genuinely confused by this. “You can’t just force yourself not to listen to the voice. How would you even do that?”

Harry shrugged. “Sheer stubbornness.”

“Hah! That sounds about right,” Ron laughed.

Hermione didn’t seem to agree. “No, Harry, Malfoy’s right. If it were even possible to just muscle through the Imperius Curse and stubbornly deny the voice, it would be extremely painful.”

“Yeah, fighting off the Imperius curse hurts.” Harry had never really thought about his technique for fighting off the curse, he had always just assumed his method was the only way. “Now that you mention it, it’s always pretty damn uncomfortable. But so what? It’s just pain. You can live through pain.”

The other three were all looking a little horrified. They had finally reached the seventh floor corridor, but the others seemed too distracted by Harry’s confession to focus on pacing the hallway three times with any sort of request.

“Let me get this straight.” Malfoy kept his voice very deliberate and controlled. “When Professor Moody…”

“Fake Moody,” Ron interrupted.

“Fine.” Malfoy continued. “When fake Professor Moody cast the Imperius curse on you in fourth year, fourteen-year-old you heard a soothing and calm voice in your head saying ‘Hop on one foot’ or whatever it was. You are telling us that you did _not_ gain control over your mind and cast the voice aside. Instead, you felt the euphoric pull to do as you were told and thought ‘No, I’m Harry bloody Potter, I never do as I’m told’ and you just…didn’t listen? You experienced a tremendous amount of mental and physical pain, just so you wouldn’t have to hop on one foot in front of the class? Is that what you’re saying?”

Harry considered that. “Well, actually he wanted me to jump on the desk. But yeah, I guess the other stuff isn’t too far off.”

“Bloody hell, mate. I don’t know if you’re mad or a genius.”

“He’s an idiot.” Malfoy corrected Ron. “You know there’s a much easier way to do that, right?”

“Well, now I do.” Harry was done with this line of questioning, and he started pacing the corridor thinking about what kind of books he needed. “Besides, it doesn’t matter how much better your method is if I can’t find a way to clear my mind.”

On his third turn down the passage, the blank wall filled with a nondescript door. Harry held it open as Hermione and Ron got to take their first glance at the cavernous chamber which held all of Hogwarts’ hidden treasures and dirty secrets. Ron was grinning from ear to ear. “Woah, mate, this is great!”

Hermione looked equally impressed. “Harry, this is absolutely incredible.”

Malfoy seemed annoyed that Harry was getting all the credit. “Hey, I…” he paused, and Harry quirked a brow at him. Would he admit that he’d found it also, if it meant that he would have to tell the other two why he was there? “…think it’s interesting also. Good find, Potter.”

Before Harry could comment on Malfoy’s obvious annoyance, Hermione spoke up with a question that surprised no one. “So, where are the books?”

Harry led them in a direction that just felt right, past a couple animated swords that were dueling each other. On they strolled beneath a large tapestry that was half unraveled. They even saw a small silvery instrument that looked like the kind of thing Dumbledore would keep in his office, except this one was emitting small pink and green bubbles. Meanwhile, Harry could hear Malfoy muttering under his breath, “I still can’t believe you’re trying to learn Occlumency from a book.”

Much like before, Harry was able to find the texts he was looking for quickly enough. This time there were only two shelves, and many of the books looked quite old, but at least they had to do with occlumency. Hermione immediately grabbed the fattest book on the shelf, while Ron went straight for the smallest. Harry grabbed one called ‘Defensive Mind Magic,’ since that sounded useful.

While Ron and Hermione were distracted, Malfoy sidled up next to Harry. He pretended to read over his shoulder while whispering in his ear. “Is this really what you were looking for in the Room of Requirement last time? Books on occlumency? I thought you were curious about dream magic? You do know those are two different things, right?”

Harry kept his voice just as low. “I know. I’m just…I’m interested in both. For different reasons.”

Malfoy shrugged and slipped him a shrunken book, probably the one he had been referring to back when they were in the library. “It’s on dream magic. I told my mother I wanted books on the subject, but didn’t mention why. She found it in our library. Maybe it will be useful.”

Ron looked up from his flimsy book to see Malfoy a lot closer to Harry than he was comfortable with. “Get away from him, Malfoy. Harry doesn’t need you breathing down his neck.”

The Slytherin just rolled his eyes but didn’t move. He diverted his attention back to Harry, clearly deciding that Ron wasn’t worth the effort. “If you’re really interested in learning Occlumency, Potter, you shouldn’t be trying to learn it from books. It takes practical effort and guidance.” Malfoy looked like he’d won something, and Harry wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or amused. “I could teach you, you know. I did say I wanted to do something to make up for by past behavior, and this could be it.”

Despite the question being addressed to Harry, it was Ron who answered, brandishing his flimsy occlumency book as if it were a weapon. “What the hell are you up to, Malfoy? And don’t say ‘trying to make peace’ or ‘forming a truce’ or whatever. Because we all know that’s complete rubbish! You hate Harry, and you hate us, and there’s no bloody way you want to teach us _anything_ out of the goodness of your slimy heart.”

Hermione looked scandalized by Ron’s tirade, but Malfoy himself kept his eyes on Harry. It was clear that he would accept an answer from no one but the Chosen One himself. Harry sighed. “Look, thanks for the offer, Malfoy, but I think I know what you’re getting at now. And there’s no way I’m getting occlumency lessons from some Slytherin git who’s just going to use it as an excuse to attack my mind and rip out whatever embarrassing memories he wants to peruse.”

Harry bent down to pick up his bag. This time, he was done with this nonsense. “Come on guys, grab whatever books you want and let’s go. Malfoy, do whatever you like, but I’m not letting you inside my mind.”

“Why would I attack your mind?” Malfoy seemed genuinely confused by Harry’s accusations. “I don’t even know legilimancy.” But Harry was only half listening. He gestured for Ron and Hermione to hurry up, so he wouldn’t have to listen to any more of Malfoy’s excuses. “Besides, you wouldn’t even be ready to defend against mind attacks for some time. The first step would be teaching you how to clear your mind.”

That did it. That stopped Harry right in his tracks. He hadn’t even gotten a couple steps from their small clearing, when he turned around and walked right back. “What do you mean, teaching me how to clear my mind?”

“That’s the first step in occlumency, you need to learn how to clear your mind. Then, after that…”

Harry took another step closer. “You can learn how to clear your mind? Like, there are actual specific steps and techniques to learn _how_ to clear your mind?” Harry was slowly making his way back to the blonde’s side.

Malfoy simply looked confused. “Yes, obviously. What? Did you think people just started learning occlumency by someone attacking their pupil with legilimancy and the poor bastard trying to blindly fight them off?” Harry shared a look with Ron and Hermione, but refused to comment on this. However, his temper was quickly mounting.

Hermione came to the rescue, since Harry was quickly becoming too angry to speak. “How _do_ you clear you mind?”

Malfoy seemed quite pleased to have all attention on him, yet again. “Well, the first step is meditation and breathing techniques. Allowing yourself to get into a calm frame of mind.”

Harry was getting less and less calm by the second. That ruddy bastard! Meditation? Snape never once mentioned any breathing techniques. He certainly never helped Harry get into a calm frame of mind. Like always, he had simply angered and intimidated Harry, and then used his power to try and torture him as much as he could get away with.

Malfoy noticed that Harry was starting to physically shake with righteous anger. “What’s wrong with him?”

Ron covered for him. “He’s not good at getting into a calm frame of mind.” So far, Harry hadn’t specifically mentioned his lessons with Snape, and his friends rightly assumed he didn’t want Malfoy to hear about it.

Hermione was still trying to salvage the situation. “Would you be able to teach us these meditation and breathing techniques?”

“Not bloody likely.” Ron still did not trust this situation. “I can’t exactly picture myself getting into a calm frame of mind with a ponce like Malfoy hovering over me.”

“Well, if you prefer I can just lend you my book on the subject.” Hermione’s eyes seemed to sparkle at the suggestion, and Malfoy once again spoke directly to her. “I was practicing Occlumency all summer, so I grabbed tons of books on the subject from our family library. I’ve got one specifically on breathing and meditation techniques. I’ll let you borrow it, if you like.”

 “Why would you do that?” Ron still did not seem capable of grasping that Malfoy would possibly want to help them for any reason.

Harry chimed in as well, before Malfoy could weasel an excuse. “Yeah, what is all this Malfoy? I get that you want to make amends or whatever, but there’s got to be some other motive here, right? Why would you possibly want to be so helpful?”

Malfoy huffed in annoyance. “Oh, you know, Potter. It’s all a part of my new evil plan. I’m going to keep being nice and helpful toward all of you until it drives you utterly mad with suspicion. Perfect. Things are progressing right on track.” He turned back to Hermione with an all too innocent smile. “If you don’t want the book, I don’t have to lend it to you. I just thought it would be useful.”

Hermione jumped in before Harry or Ron got the chance to insult Malfoy again. “It is useful.” She shot Harry and Ron a warning look as if to say ‘don’t ruin this for me,’ before she turned back to the blonde. “Thank you, Malfoy. If it’s not too much trouble, we would like to borrow your book, please.”

Both Harry and Ron gaped at her. Clearly, she was a lot more forgiving than either of them. However, Malfoy seemed more than satisfied with how things had progressed. “It’s no trouble at all. I’m happy to help. I’ll just ask Mother to send me the book and I’ll bring it with me to Potions on Monday.” Malfoy turned on his heel and was about to leave, but he just couldn’t resist one final comment. “Oh, and by the way, Weasley, that book in your hands is called ‘An Idiot’s Guide to Mind Magic.’ Maybe try not to make yourself such an easy target in the future.” And with that, he made himself scarce.

As soon as it was just the three of them, Ron looked down at the thin book that he had been waving about. He scowled when he saw the words printed across the cover. “I really hate him.”

***

Later that evening, after Harry and Ron had finally completed their Charms essays, Harry sat up in his bed with the drapes shut and pulled out the book on dream magic that Malfoy had lent him. It didn’t look like anything special, but the title: ‘The Connection Between Magic and Dreams’ did strike a chord with him.

Even if Harry’s recent dreams were just that: dreams, he still felt like they were trying to tell him something. Just last week, his dream had taken place in a small bedroom with nothing but a child size bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. Tom Riddle had claimed it was his bedroom at the orphanage, but Harry had no idea how he would remember a bedroom he had never seen before. He was starting to suspect that these dreams were more than just a warning. This had to have something to do with his connection with Voldemort, but since Harry didn’t really understand that connection, he had no idea if these dreams were memories, or visions, or what.

Harry glanced through the Table of Contents first. None of the Chapters really caught his attention, until he saw one that was circled. Someone had gone through this book and circled one of the chapters with a green quill. It was Chapter Eight: Sharing Magic and Sharing Dreams. Harry wasn’t sure who would mark up this old book. It must have been some former Malfoy, because who else would have access to the Malfoy Family Library? Either way, it did seem to be exactly what he needed, so Harry flipped ahead to Chapter Eight.

As soon as Harry skipped to the page he was looking for, he realized that the person with the green quill had not hesitated to mark up this entire section of the book. Several passages were underlined, certain phrases or words were circled, and the person had even scribbled notes in the margins. Although scribble probably wasn’t the right word, since whoever it was, had impeccable handwriting. Harry couldn’t help but notice that the handwriting was eerily familiar, although he couldn’t think where he had seen it before.

Before this year, Harry probably would have been annoyed that someone had marked up the book he wanted to read. But after his experience with the Half-Blood Prince, he’d begun to think that added notes could be even more useful than the original text, so this time he started by reading the notes that his green-penned friend had added.

The first page of the chapter seemed to be just an overview, explaining how dream magic (a very specific branch of Mind Magic) could be influenced by other types of magic, most commonly Blood Magic, but also Soul Magic. The term Soul Magic was circled.

Harry remembered Dumbledore talking about Soul Magic and Blood Magic. The headmaster had said they were dangerous; that they could hurt the person casting them even more than the person they were targeted at. Dumbledore had described them as being different types of Ancient Magic. Was Mind Magic another form of Ancient Magic? Why would Dumbledore go out of his way to make Mind Magic illegal? Was that why there were no books on the subject in the school library? Harry would have to ask the headmaster during their next lesson.

Harry turned a few more pages, and the notes from Green Quill (as Harry was now referring to him) seemed to increase quite a bit. The book passages, along with the additional notes, explained how sharing blood can cause two people to form a link with their magic, a Blood Magic link. This Blood Magic link could theoretically become strong enough, that other types of magical links were formed, as well.

If a Mind Magic link were formed, then the two people could share dreams, or even feel if the other person were extremely scared, upset, or in danger. There were a few instances of relatives (usually siblings or even twins) sharing dreams with each other. The book claimed that, theoretically, if the link were strong enough, two wizards would even be able to communicate over the link or feel each other’s emotions. Again, several phrases were circled, including ‘Blood Magic link’ and ‘feel each other’s emotions.’ There was even a note written to the side: ‘Sharing blood enhanced the link.’

Harry couldn’t help but be reminded of his connection with Voldemort. After all, Harry had had many dreams from Voldemort’s perspective over the years. He had certainly felt Voldemort’s emotions on more than one occasion. Could they have a Mind Magic link like this book was describing? But how could that have formed? Then Harry remembered that they did have a Blood Magic link. They weren’t related, but Voldemort had used Harry’s blood in his resurrection, in order to bypass the protective magic of his mother’s love.

Was that enough to explain it, though? Harry had been having visions of Voldemort even before the man’s resurrection. But Dumbledore had told Harry that Tom Riddle had inadvertently given Harry some of his magic, during his attempt to kill him as a baby. If Harry and Voldemort shared magic, would they have formed a Mind Magic link from that? Harry couldn’t really think of any better explanation.

The link that this book was describing did seem to describe the connection Harry had with Voldemort, but to a far lesser degree. The book had people describe what they had felt over their Mind Magic link. The ‘shared dreams’ seemed to usually just be vague impressions or feelings. Harry’s had always been crystal clear. And the few people who had actually felt another person’s distress had described it as a faint tingle, something you would hardly notice unless you were really looking for it. Harry had passed out on more than one occasion when Voldemort had been particularly upset. It was about as faint as a mallet to the brain.

Harry went ahead and kept reading, though. Toward the end of the chapter, Harry saw a large section that Green Quill had boxed in and underlined, as if it were particularly important. Harry read that section.

_The rarest type of magical link is a Soul Magic link. It only occurs when two magical beings have their souls bonded together. There are currently no verified instances of a Soul Magic link occurring in modern times. However, should one occur and were able to grow in strength, it could cause a Mind Magic link to grow as well. However, this is purely speculative, and no evidence of such an instance occurring as ever been documented._

Harry didn’t bother reading any more of that section. It was just theoretical nonsense, and obviously didn’t apply to him.

***

Lord Voldemort stormed out of the library with his magic flaring violently. He couldn’t find his book on Dream Magic anywhere, and his only conclusion was that the house elves must have misplaced it when they were cleaning the library. After all, it wasn’t as though any of the other occupants of the manor had any interest in dream magic. It felt good to take out his frustrations on the small, terrified creatures. The Dark Lord found their screams wonderfully soothing.

 


	10. Different Expectations

Severus Snape scowled at the lovely, suburban home. He wasn’t sure what he imagined when he pictured the house that Harry Potter grew up in, but this certainly wouldn’t have been it. The simple, single-family dwelling just looked too normal for a boy who seemed to attract the bizarre and dangerous at every turn. On the other hand, it looked exactly like the sort of house he would envision for Petunia Evans, who had always espoused the dogma of fitting in and being normal.

The house before him looked almost exactly like the residences on either side, but this house was different. He could feel it. It was drenched in powerful magic; Blood Magic. The sheer power of it licked at his heels as he walked down the sidewalk, along the wards. The magic reminded him of Lily.

But this was not his destination. Not today. He still had too many questions that needed answers. He wanted to get a better idea of the situation before he questioned Potter’s relatives. _If_ he questioned Potter’s relatives. He was still holding out hope that Hagrid had misunderstood the situation and Potter was just as much of a spoilt nuisance as he had always presumed him to be. But that was beginning to seem less and less likely.

Severus stood before a door that looked very similar to the one at the front of Number 4. The only difference was that this one had a note taped to the front which read “Please knock loudly. Doorbell broken.” The note was written on pale blue stationery that had little green and pink cats along the perimeter. Severus detested the idea of following instructions written on such an unsophisticated letterhead, but didn’t see much other choice when he was trying to keep a low profile. He knocked loudly.

The door opened only the barest of cracks. All Severus could see was one watery eye peaking out from beneath some grizzled grey hair. “Hello? Oh yes, you’re Mr. Snape, right? Come in quickly, before Mr. Tibbles can make an escape.” Sure enough, the elderly woman only opened the door long enough for Severus to slip inside, and then she immediately shut it in the face of a large, ginger cat, before the hopeful thing could dart outside.

“He’s always trying to slip out,” she explained. Severus paused at the threshold, taking in the appearance of the house and Mrs. Figg herself. Arabella Figg was a small woman with flyaway grey hair barely held down with a tied hairnet. She was shuffling around the cozy house in an old dress and tartan carpet slippers as she led him into the drawing room, where he could see even more cats waiting.

Mrs. Figg led him to an overstuffed armchair. “Make yourself at home. I assume Dumbledore sent you.”

“I came…on business that concerns him, yes.” The whole house smelled intensely of cabbage. Why did it smell so strongly of cabbage? Was she cooking cabbage?

A fluffy white cat approached and tried to drag its furry body along Severus’s leg. The potion’s master gave it his most imposing glare, but clearly the small thing wasn’t nearly as easily intimidated as Hagrid’s boarhound. It kept rubbing itself along his leg, leaving small white hairs in its wake.

“That’s Snowy, he’s the friendly one.” Mrs. Figg smiled approvingly. She then pointed at a fat black cat with white paws, who was hiding under the coffee table. “And that’s Mr. Paws, he’s a bit on the shy side, but he’ll warm up to you with time.”

“What…creative names.” Severus had to hold back a scowl as he tried to nudge the white cat away from him with his foot. He was tempted to just kick it, but didn’t want to do that while Mrs. Figg was watching. He doubted that would go over well.

She seemed to suddenly have an idea. “Oh here!” She pulled out a small jar that was full of some dried herb. “This is catnip, if we put a little of this in your lap, all the little dears will come right to you.”

Severus jumped and grabbed her arm in the nick of time before she could pour that vile plant onto his clothes. “No.” He tried to keep his voice as calm and polite as he could. “That will not be necessary.” Severus tried to think of a convincing lie to explain his revulsion for the little flea bags without being rude. “I’m actually highly allergic to cats. In fact, is there a way to get them to leave me alone?”

“Oh,” she frowned down at the cat, ‘Snowy’ that still seemed insistent on getting as much white hair onto Severus’s black clothes as possible. “Well, they sort of just go where they want and do as they please.”

Severus sighed. “What a useful trait in a pet.”

“I’ll get you some tea,” the woman announced as she made her way to the kitchen. “That should help with your allergies. You are looking rather pale and your voice sounds awfully nasally.”

“It always…nevermind. Tea would be nice, thank you.” As soon as the elderly woman was out of sight, Snape grabbed the jar she left on the table and poured a large handful of catnip onto the chair opposite him. “Go.” He muttered. “Go over there. Smell the chair. Doesn’t it smell nice? Go away you filthy little…”

“Here we are then!” Severus immediately shut his mouth when he heard Mrs. Figg reenter the drawing room. “I made Earl Grey. I hope that suits you.” She poured out the steaming liquid into two dainty teacups, while offering Severus an overly friendly smile. “Oh would you look at that. You made a new friend.” Severus looked down to see the fat black and white cat was now at his feet, beside the fluffy white one.

Mrs. Figg could not have looked prouder. “That’s Tufty. He’s a very good judge of character. If he likes you, you must have a good soul.”

Severus frowned. “I thought you said his name was Mr. Paws.”

“No, no. _That’s_ Mr. Paws.” She pointed to a space behind Severus, and he turned to see two large yellow eyes staring back at him from mere inches away. He jumped to the side, and took in the whole cat, which was sitting quite comfortably on the back of the chair, next to his head.

“So, did you come here to ask about Harry?”

Severus turned back to the owner of the cats. She was sitting in the pile of catnip, joyfully sipping her tea, and yet all the cats still seemed drawn to him. Perhaps they couldn’t smell the catnip over the staggeringly strong stench of cabbage. “How did you know I wanted to talk about the boy?”

“Dumbledore always asks about him. I sort of suspect he’s the only reason that man ever floos. Sure, Dumbledore always inquires after my cats, and asks how they are and if there are any kittens on the way. I breed them, you know? Part kneazle-part cats; that’s my specialty.”

“You don’t say?”

“But then the conversation always ends up back with young Harry.” Mrs. Figg sipped at her tea as another cat made its way to the armchair and tried to crawl into Severus’s lap. He tried gently pushing it away, but that seemed to just encourage the thing as it started swiping at his hand with its paw.

“What did Dumbledore ask about specifically?” The sooner he could get this over with, the sooner he could leave and burn his clothes. The white cat by his feet had covered one entire leg with white fur and had moved on to the other leg.

Mrs. Figg seemed perfectly happy to answer questions, as unsuspicious as Hagrid had been. “Oh, you know, the usual. I’ve been keeping an eye on that boy for years, you know. When he was just a little nipper, Dumbledore would usually just ask how he was doing, and if he seemed safe and happy, and if his relatives were treating him alright.”

Severus, once again, forcefully prevented Mr. Tibbles from making a bed out of his lap, but while he was distracted, Mr. Paws began climbing onto his shoulder. “And what did you tell Dumbledore?”

“Oh, well, I never much liked those Dursley people. They keep their house just a bit too clean, if you know what I mean. Besides, that Petunia woman, the aunt, told me once that she didn’t like cats. What kind of monster doesn’t like little kitties?”

Severus’s eye twitched, as he held back Mr. Paws with one hand while trying to prevent Mr. Tibbles from kneading his lap with its claws. Meanwhile, he had no hands left to stop Tufty from rubbing its ears against his hip. “Yes, who could possibly not like these…things?”

“Exactly.” Mrs. Figg sipped her tea happily, completely oblivious to Severus’s plight. “So, as I was saying, those Dursley people always seemed no good to me. And I warned Dumbledore that they didn’t care for cats much. Also, they hardly seemed to pay any attention to the boy. They never took him on vacations or holidays; they always left him with me. But then, he was a rather strange child, I always got the impression he didn’t really want to spend his time with them, either.”

Severus had moved on to the strategy of lifting the cats up and setting them on the ground. However, that only lasted a moment, before they jumped back up into his lap, so he seemed to be fighting a losing battle. “In what way was the boy strange?”

“Oh, lots of ways. He was so quiet for one, barely spoke a word. Very polite, but sad in a way.”

Severus tipped his elbow, knocking Mr. Tibbles to the floor, but subtly enough that it looked like an accident. “Polite?” he scowled. “Quiet? We are still talking about Harry Potter, correct?”

“Yes, of course. Very polite and quiet. He never seemed have any friends, though. At least I never saw him with any. Except maybe his cousin, those boys were always playing chase with each other.”

“And who was chasing whom, I wonder.” Severus again tried to knock one of the cats from his shoulder, but then Mr. Paws leaned up onto Severus’s chest and started licking his chin. “Madam, are you sure there’s no off-switch for these things?”

“You know I’ve never seen them quite so taken with someone, before. Except maybe Harry; they always seemed to just love that boy. You two must have kindred souls.”

“That cannot possibly be accurate. I believe your kneazles must simply be attracted to feelings of disgust and annoyance.” At those words Mr. Tibbles started purring in Severus’s ear, and the white cat, Snowy, decided that Severus’s trousers were sufficiently ruined and jumped up to start defiling his shirt. Severus sighed and tried to reign in his temper. “Was there anything else that was odd about the boy?”

“Well he always wore the strangest clothes. Huge, baggy, ugly things that barely seemed to fit him. But then, who understand kids styles these days? And of course, there was the cupboard, but I suppose that wasn’t too strange compared to everything else.”

Severus sat up at that, dislodging Tufty from its perch on his shoulder. “What cupboard?”

Mrs. Figg just shrugged and poured some more tea into her china teacup. “He slept in a cupboard. Couldn’t tell you why. Some children just like hiding out in their own little space, I suppose. He seemed a bit embarrassed about it, actually. Almost never brought it up, but he let it slip a couple times when he was little. Talked about his cupboard instead of his room. I tried asking him about it once, but he just changed the subject. I think he just liked having his own little hideaway.”

“And why would he feel the need to hide?”

Mrs. Figg just shrugged again. “Oh, that’s perfectly normal, my cats do it all the time.”

“Right, well, I believe that’s all the useful information I am going to get here.” He stood up, knocking off at least three cats in the process. “Thank you for –.” He paused for a long moment. “I actually can’t think of anything to be thankful of regarding this experience.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be more useful. I don’t know if this would help at all, but I do have lots of photos.”

Severus nudged two more cats away with his foot. “You have photos of Potter? As a child?”

“Oh? You want photos of Harry? I meant photos of the cats, but I do actually have some photos of the boy, as well. Here, I’ll throw in a few of Harry.”

“I don’t need any photos of your cats. Just photos of the boy will be sufficient.” As soon as Mrs. Figg turned her back toward a shelf of old albums, Severus tried kicking the cats away as quietly as possible. Unfortunately, their cat-like reflexes helped them dodge the kicks, and they seemed to just regard it as a game, trying to all gang up on him at once.

“Here we are.” Mrs. Figg turned back with a large stack of muggle photos. “All the pictures you could possibly need.”

“Mrs. Figg, I could not possibly need photos of your cats. Just the boy will be fine.”

“Well, you never know. And if anyone asks you where they could find part-kneazles, part- cats, you let them know where to find me.”

Severus took the thick stack, knowing he would have to sort out the photos of the boy on his own. “If anyone asks me about kneazle kittens, I know exactly what my response will be.” He left through the floo, not able to stomach the idea of anyone seeing him in the fur-covered clothes, even random muggles.

He used his soiled garments to practice his control with Fiendfyre.

***

Harry stood with this back straight, as still as possible, not wanting to dislodge the thick book from its precarious position on his head. So far it hadn’t fallen for a full minute, which was his record, but he was going to need to breath at some point, and he was pretty sure as soon as he did, it would come tumbling down again.

“All right, young man. Let’s see how well you remember our lesson on proper titles. If you and I were to meet on the streets of Diagon Alley, how would you address me?”

Harry furrowed his brow, and the book fell into his arms without further ado. He finally let out the breath he’d been holding. “Merlin, this is impossible!” Mrs. Longbottom pursed her lips in annoyance, but held her tongue. “I mean, I would call you…Mrs. Longbottom?”

“Correct.” She nodded her head at the etiquette book in his hands, which caused the entire vulture stuffed hat to nod along with her. “Try again. You don’t strike me as the type to give up so easily.” Harry once again placed the text on his head. “Now, what if we were to meet at a dinner party?”

“Dinner party…” He bit his lip in thought but was very careful not to adjust his forehead in any way. “I’d call you Augusta?”

“Correct again.” Her skirts swooped behind her and she marched around him appraisingly. “That’s because you and I are social acquaintances. But what if you were to meet someone like Lady Malfoy at a dinner party? Someone you weren’t well acquainted with? How would you address her?”

Harry tried to think back about what Miss Marple’s Guide to Etiquette had said about that. When his head unconsciously tilted in thought, said book came tumbling down again, and he barely managed to catch it in time. “Would I just call her by her last name? Malfoy?”

“If she is the only Malfoy present, then you can call her Malfoy, after you have already greeted her once with her correct title of Lady Malfoy for a formal affair, or Mrs. Malfoy for a casual affair. If there is more than one Malfoy, then how would you address her?”

Harry could hardly believe that the rules were this specific. “Would I keep calling her Lady Malfoy?”

“Yes, young man, very good. See, I said you would catch on quickly enough.” She gave him a proud smile even though he probably looked like a complete moron with his baffled expression and that fat book barely maintaining its position on his tangled mass of black hair. “One last question. How should someone refer to _you_ at a formal affair, such as a Wizengamot session?”

“Oh, I remember that one! They’re supposed to call me Heir Potter for now, or Lord Potter once I turn seventeen. If they call me anything else, like Mr. Potter, or something informal like that, then they’re actually mocking me, and I’m supposed to take it as an insult.”

“Spot on.”

Harry smiled, and the book fell yet again. At least he had managed to keep it for almost two minutes. He was improving.

“Now, I think it’s time you try walking with that book.” His smile immediately dissipated as Mrs. Longbottom stared down her pinched nose at him. “Come now, place Miss Marple back on your head and take a step forward.”

Harry did as he was told. Once the book was in place, he stood as still as possible to keep it from immediately plummeting to the floor. He then slowly placed one foot forward, as carefully as he could.

“Come now, young man.” Her tone was clipped and demanding as ever. “A respectable young heir does not edge forward like a terrified puppy. He takes long and graceful steps, with the confidence that he knows exactly where he is and where he’s going.”

Harry caught the book again as it fell. “Madam, I can walk with confidence, or I can balance the book on my head. I can’t do both.”

“Your father could.” Mrs. Longbottom moved behind him and jabbed her wand into his lower back until he straightened it out to her liking. “I’ve hardly met a wizard with more confidence and natural poise as your father. If he could do it, so can you. Try again.”

Harry tried about thirty more times. Each more frustrating than the last. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her expectation that he strive for the example set by his father. On the one hand, Harry had wanted for many years to live up to his father’s legacy, and it felt like a dirty tactic for her to so blatantly compare him to the man he never knew. On the other hand, what little Harry had learned about his father in the last couple years had taught him that his father was overconfident to the point of being an arrogant bully, at least when he was still in school. Harry didn’t want to turn into some pompous prat like Malfoy. He doubted Ron would ever forgive him.

“Keep walking,” Mrs. Longbottom instructed. At least Harry was able to take one or two steps before the book fell, but he had to use his Seeker reflexes to catch it. “In the meanwhile, we’ll practice your small talk.”

“Oh good,” Harry just couldn’t help himself. “I was just thinking that doing two things at once wasn’t nearly difficult enough. I really need at least three.”

“You’re almost seventeen, young man.” Mrs. Longbottom tutted as she used her wand again to prod at him. This time it was his chin she moved until it was facing perfectly forward. “I believe you can manage to walk and talk at the same time.”

“It’s not the walking or talking I have issue with, madam.” This time the book fell behind him, and he had to spin around in time to catch it. “It’s the balancing act that goes along with it.”

“Try again, if your father could do it, then it should be no problem for you.” Harry’s eye twitched at the second reference to his father. Did Neville have to put up with this? Probably. “Now, let’s go over the specific topics that are appropriate to discuss at formal functions. The weather is always safe, but extremely boring. Holiday travels are fine to ask about, as is asking about family or mutual friends, but only if the specific people aren’t embroiled in a recent scandal, otherwise it’s quite crass. Current events, the news, and politics are acceptable as long as it’s not something that could be considered controversial, then save that discussion for the floor of the Wizengamot, or behind closed doors.”

“Can I talk about Quidditch?” Harry’s balancing skills took an immediate dive when he tried to process the information Mrs. Longbottom was giving him.

“Only at informal functions. Plebian sports aren’t a very appropriate topic for a high society affair.” Harry nodded, remembering the book too late. How was he so bad at this? It was like the occlumency lessons all over again. Mrs. Longbottom waited for him to readjust the book before she continued. “Good lad. Chin up. Keep trying. Now, let’s go over the proper way to make political small talk. Let’s say we were going to discuss a current bill, I would start by saying: ‘So, Heir Potter, what do you think of the current Werewolf Dark Creature Bill?’ Then you would say –.”

“What Werewolf Dark Creature Bill?” Harry dropped the book again, but this time he let it fall to the floor.

“No, young man. First of all, you never want to allow yourself to seem ignorant about any political subject. Second, if you wanted to know more about a particular bill, you would say: ‘I haven’t yet formed an opinion one way or the other. I’m curious what you think of the bill?’”

“Ok,” Harry picked up the book before he received that stern look again. “What _do_ you think of the bill? Is that a real bill that’s being debated right now? What’s it about exactly? Why is it called the Werewolf Dark Creature Bill?”

Mrs. Longbottom just waved her non-wand hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s just some bill going before the Wizengamot in a few weeks about labeling werewolves as Dark Creatures instead of Half Breeds. However, the specific bill we are discussing doesn’t really matter. The point is, when you ask someone about the bill…”

Harry couldn’t help but interrupt again. “There’s a bill in the Wizengamot about labelling werewolves as Dark Creatures? It’s not going to pass, is it? There’s no way something like that could pass, right? Are you voting on it? Who could possibly vote yes to something like that?”

Mrs. Longbottom had the same expression that McGonagall always had right before she took a lot of points from Gryffindor. Her voice seemed to get low and terrible. “Do not dare interrupt me again, young man. I understand that you have never been taught appropriate manners, but you should still know better than to so rudely interrupt an elderly lady. Especially one who is taking time out of her busy schedule to help you.”

Harry paled. “I’m really sorry, Lady Longbottom. I didn’t mean to interrupt or anything. I do appreciate your help and everything. I just…is that really a bill? That werewolf thing? Can you please tell me more about that?”

Mrs. Longbottom’s expression softened a bit at his desperate tone. “Is that something you’re actually concerned about?”

“Of course!” Harry cried, and then he remembered himself and immediately put the book back on his head and kept his posture upright. “I mean…I care a lot about werewolf rights, Lady Longbottom. I have a friend who’s a werewolf.” Her eyebrows shot up at that. “They get a bad rap…I mean, they have a bad reputation, and I understand some werewolves are pretty terrible people, but not all of them are. Some are really amazing wizards, who are just trying to get by. Do you think this bill could possibly pass?”

“It could.” She gave Harry a sympathetic look. “I’ll be honest, Heir Potter, I was planning to abstain from voting on that bill. I know Albus has told all the Light Wizards that it’s important for half-breed diplomacy for that bill to fail, but there are just so many werewolves like Greyback out there, attacking innocent people; even children. I don’t usually agree with that Umbridge woman, but in this situation, it seems to make sense to me that werewolves get labelled as Dark Creatures. The only reason I was abstaining was because Dumbledore kept insisting that we couldn’t let the bill pass.”

“He’s right!” Harry could feel his blood boiling, and he began pacing back and forth across the room, trying to keep his temper in check. The idea that Lupin could lose what little rights he had left had spiked Harry’s indignation, but the mention of ‘that Umbridge woman’ had sent Harry’s ire through the roof. “There are tons of wizards who go around killing innocent people; even children. Yet no one talks about labelling all wizards as ‘Dark’ and rounding them all up. Just because there are some bad werewolves out there, doesn’t mean we should start tracking them all down or locking them up. Umbridge is just prejudiced against all magical creatures! She’d use _any_ excuse to label _any_ magical creature as Dark or Evil or Illegal. She can’t get away with this! This isn’t just about half-breed diplomacy. It’s basic decency! Good people, innocent people, shouldn’t be punished just because of a few bad eggs. This is wrong!”

Mrs. Longbottom was giving him a highly impressed look. “I knew there was some of your father’s spark in you, Heir Potter.” At her words, Harry titled his head in confusion, and suddenly the book came crashing to the floor again. Had that been on his head the whole time he was pacing the room? He’d completely forgotten about it. “I didn’t realize you were so passionate about this subject. I must say, I hadn’t considered it in quite those terms. Perhaps I’ll vote after all.”

Harry gave a half smile. “I think that would be a really good thing, madam. Sorry if I got a little carried away. I didn’t mean to start ranting like that.”

Mrs. Longbottom pointed her wand at the book on the floor and wordlessly levitated it into Harry’s hands. “Do not apologize for passion, young man. Now, I knew there was a Pureblood Lord in there waiting to burst forth. Let’s see you do that again.”

***

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_Mrs. Longbottom told me about the Werewolf Dark Creature bill. She said you were trying to prevent it from passing, and I want to help._

_I know you said you were more interested in hearing about my political views now that I’m getting closer to seventeen. Well, here’s my opinion. I completely agree with you. This bill cannot be allowed to pass. Please use the Potter family seat to vote down this bill._

_In fact, if you need extra votes, please feel free to use the Black family seat as well. Just send me whatever paperwork I need to fill out and I’ll assign you to be the Black Proxy if I can. I don’t want Lupin to lose any more rights. I want to do everything I can to help._

_Thank you for fighting for this cause._

_Sincerely,_

_Heir Harry James Potter_

_P.S. I also don’t think Stan Shunpike is a Death Eater. I’m not sure if there’s anything you can do about that, but I’d like to help him if at all possible._

***

Harry fed Hedwig some leftover bacon he saved from breakfast before he tied the letter to her leg. There were plenty of school owls in the owlery that could make the journey, but there was really only one bird he would trust with something this important. “Dumbledore wasn’t at breakfast again this morning, girl. I haven’t seen him in days. I have no idea where he is. Do you think you can find him and get this to him?”

Hedwig ruffled her snowy white feathers in indignation. She seemed offended by the mere suggestion that she might not be able to complete this task. Harry knew most owls would need an address to deliver a letter, but he also knew his owl was special. Besides, if Dumbledore was off on some important, secret mission, Harry suspected the man would still make himself available to incoming mail. Especially if that mail was from Harry.

Harry waited at the owlery window until Hedwig disappeared into the cloudy afternoon sky. Before he turned away, he could already hear someone trudging up the steep steps, trying to catch their breath as they climbed. Harry turned in time to see Neville’s dirty blonde hair and round, friendly face come into view as he clambered up the final set of stairs.

“Oh, hey there Harry. Sorry if I interrupted something. I can come back later.” Considering that Neville sat so primly during meals, he seemed to shrink in on himself when standing. Like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. Harry hadn’t noticed before that Neville had really shot up in the last couple years, and the boy was probably half a foot taller than Harry now. Had Neville always been so tall? Had he just seemed short before?

Harry waved off the boy’s suggestion. “You don’t need to apologize for anything, Neville. This is the school owlery...for everyone. Besides, I just sent off my letter, so the place is all yours now.”

“It’s ok, I’m just sending a letter to Gran.” Neville nervously tried to reach out for one of the school owls, but it pecked at his fingers in protest. “I just always seem to have trouble finding one that’s willing to go on a delivery.”

Harry watched for a couple minutes as Neville tried desperately to tie his letter to any owl that would sit still long enough. Some of the owls seemed to sense his nervousness and nip at him whenever he got his hands close enough. Others just flew away before he got the chance to even try. Harry watched with horrified fascination. “Er, that’s…” The only thing that came to mind was ‘pathetic and sad,’ so Harry quickly changed the subject. “So, what are you writing to your grandmother about?”

Neville tried lunging at an unsuspecting owl, but it flapped away just in time. “Oh, you know. Just letting her know how the term is going. By the way, Harry, Gran mentioned that she was giving you lessons. I hope you don’t mind that she told me. She didn’t say what they were about, but she said she’d met with you and thought you had potential.”

“Oh, that’s nice of her, I suppose.” Harry watched as Neville scared away another bird. “Hey, Neville, do you want to just give me that letter and I can mail it off?”

“No, I’ve got this. Besides, Gran says I need to spend more time around animals, so I can learn to be better at handling them, like my dad was.” One such animal took the time to leave a large, wet dropping on Neville’s cheek before flying away.

Harry lifted his wand almost absentmindedly. “Scourgify.”

“Thanks.” Neville frowned as he looked around the owlery. Almost all the owls had moved over to the opposite side of the tower from him. The rest were hiding out in the upper rafters. “You’re a good friend, Harry. I know you have a lot going on right now. Ron mentioned you were meeting with Professor Dumbledore, too. And you’ve got Quidditch and all that, and now Gran. I just…well, if you ever need help with anything…not that there’s much I could help you with. But if you ever need help with Herbology, or anything like that, I’d be happy to help lighten the load or whatever.”

“Thanks for the offer, Neville.” Harry gave a little whistle and three barn owls swooped down to him, one even landing on his shoulder. Neville’s jaw dropped and the letter slipped from his lose grip. Harry leaned forward and caught it before it hit the floor. If nothing else, Mrs. Longbottom’s lessons were helping with his Seeker reflexes. “It might be nice to get some extra help with Herbology, but you really don’t need to worry about me. I’ll figure it out. Plus, I’ve got Hermione, after all.” Harry tied the letter to the owl on his shoulder and sent him along out the window.

Before Neville could reply, the two of them heard more footsteps coming up the stairs, along with a drawling voice. “Would you just drop it, Pansy? I’ll help you with your essay this afternoon if it’s bothering you so much.”

“That’s not the point, Draco, and you know it. What were you doing with Potter and his two girlfriends?”

Harry heard Malfoy huff in annoyance as Neville’s eyes bulged and he whispered, “You have two girlfriends?” He looked embarrassed but also slightly impressed.

“Of course not. I can barely deal with girls one at a time. I have no idea what I’d do with two of them.” Harry did not want to deal with Draco Malfoy either, but there was only one exit from the owlery, which would lead him right down the narrow staircase Malfoy was currently climbing up. So, Harry grabbed Neville by the forearm and steered him to the back closet where Mr. Filch kept the spare owl pellets and cleaning supplies.

As soon as the two Gryffindors were safely out of sight, Harry kept the door open just a crack, but cast ‘Muffliato’ on himself and Neville; a handy new spell he had learned from the Half Blood Prince.

“What was that?” the other asked.

“It’s a spell that muffles our voices, so they shouldn’t hear us. But keep it down just in case.”

Harry peaked through the crack in time to see Malfoy sauntering up the stairs, followed by several other Slytherins. There was Pansy Parkinson, and Crabbe and Goyle of course. There was also the tall, dark-skinned young man from the Slug Club, Blaise Zabini. Taking up the rear was Theodore Nott, another son of a Death Eater who had attacked the Department of Mysteries. Harry was suddenly very glad he had chosen to avoid a confrontation, even if he was awkwardly stuffed in the shadows of a closet with Neville.

Malfoy was already making his way over to his large pet eagle owl, but Parkinson stomped forward and blocked his way. “Don’t you dare ignore me, Draco! I’ve known you since we were in diapers, now answer my question. What were you doing with Potter, Weasel, and the Mudblood?”

Harry’s blood boiled when he heard Parkinson use that word on his friend, but Neville didn’t seem like he was willing to sit idly by. Harry felt the other boy try the move past him for the door, and Harry had the wrestle him back to keep him from blowing their cover. Harry was sure Neville would not be able to take on six Slytherins, even with himself as backup, but Neville didn’t seem concerned about the odds.

While Harry shoved Neville back into a large sack of owl pellets, and gave him a warning look not to attempt that again, the conversation continued outside. “For Salazar’s sake, Pansy, I don’t know why I keep having to repeat myself.” Harry made his way back to the crack in the door in time to see Malfoy roll his eyes. The blonde tried to sidestep Parkinson again, but she wouldn’t have it. “I thought I made my intentions perfectly clear on the train. I don’t want to fight with Potter this year, I offered him a truce.”

“Truce?” Nott looked horrified. “But Potter is the enemy. That whole lot are our enemies and Potter’s top of the list.”

“Yeah,” Crabbe agreed. “Potter’s no good.”

Goyle grunted in agreement.

Zabini was the only one who didn’t have a horrified expression. “Look, Draco, I get it. You have enough enemies to deal with right now. Your life would be easier if you crossed Potter off that list. But why have you been following him around like a sad puppy? Do you like him or something?”

“Ew!” Parkinson looked queasy by the very prospect.

“I have _not_ been following him around.” Harry would have to disagree. “And I most certainly have not been acting like a sad puppy.”

“You offered to help Granger find books!” Parkinson was back to pointing her finger viciously at her old friend. “I heard her talking about looking for books in some room, and you ran off to help them. I know it! What kind of books was Potter looking for? What the bleeding hell are you helping him with?”

Draco looked like he was finally acquiescing. “Well, if you must know…” Harry held his breath. “Potter didn’t know hardly anything about his lineage. I was helping him research his genealogy.” Harry let out the air form his lungs. Malfoy had kept their secret. “I already told you a long time ago that he didn’t know he was a wizard until Hogwarts started. I’m helping him catch up.”

“Potter? Not know he was a wizard? That can’t possibly be true.” Nott scoffed. He had missed the conversation on the Hogwarts Express.

“Can’t you see he was just lying to you Draco?” Parkinson pleaded.

Meanwhile, Neville once again scooted close to Harry, but this time he didn’t try to push the door open, so Harry allowed it. “Is that true Harry? You didn’t know you were a wizard? Is that how you ended up with that genealogy book? Malfoy gave it to you?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispered. “My, er, muggle relatives didn’t like to talk about my Wizarding family. So, I missed out on some stuff. That’s why I’m taking lessons with your grandmother, actually. She’s teaching me wizarding etiquette and political stuff.”

Neville’s face went white as a ghost. “Gran is teaching you etiquette? Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry.”

Harry just shrugged. “She’s…intense. But I can handle it. She’s not so bad.” At least Mrs. Longbottom would just jab him with her wand instead of smacking him upside the head like Uncle Vernon used to do to try and teach him to ‘behave.’

“Would you all just drop it!?” Harry was pulled from his thoughts by Malfoy’s shouts. “I know what I’m doing, ok?”

Pansy put her hands on her hips. “Fine, but _we_ don’t know what you’re doing. Who’s that letter for? Are you and Potter pen pals now?”

Malfoy immediately hid the letter behind your back. “The letter’s for my mother.”

“Oh yeah?” Nott sneered. “Why are you hiding it then?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

With a nod from Theodore Nott, Crabbe and Goyle bounded forward and grabbed Malfoy. Harry was half inclined to go to his rescue, but he had to admit he, too, was curious about Malfoy’s letter.

“Should we help him?” Neville whispered.

A few weeks ago, Harry would have easily answered ‘No way. He dug his grave and he can rot in it.’ Now, Harry said, “Maybe. Just wait a tick. If it looks like he’s really in trouble, we’ll help.”

While Malfoy was thrashing and cursing his so-called friends, Nott plucked the letter from his grasp, only to have it snatched by Pansy Parkinson. She tore the envelope open with mad vigor. “It _is_ addressed to his mum,” she announced.

Nott tried to read over his shoulder. “What’s it about?”

While Nott and Parkinson skimmed the letter, Zabini sneered at Malfoy’s mutinous, former body guards. “Theo got his stupid letter. You can let him go now.”

“He’s asking her to send a book!” Parkinson announced as Crabbe and Goyle stepped away from a very irate Draco Malfoy, whose hand went straight into his pocket and returned with a wand.

“What book did you want that you couldn’t tell us about?” Zabini was asking Malfoy directly, but Nott was already answering.

“He’s asking for ‘The First Step to Guarding Your Mind: Meditation and Breathing Techniques for Clearing Your Mind.’ He’s even asking her to disguise it as something else, since there’s no way it will pass school rules.”

Harry let out a small gasp. Malfoy was asking for that book for him and his friends. If anything happened to Malfoy because of that book, it would be Harry’s fault. “Neville, we might need to help Malfoy after all. Be ready just in case.”

“Ok, Harry.” Neville nodded. He looked nervous, yet completely prepared to follow Harry to hell and back again if necessary. “Whatever you say.”

Malfoy, meanwhile, swiped his wand toward his friends and shouted “Accio letter!” The letter in question flew through the air, back to its rightful owner. “Look what you did Pansy! Now I have to go all the way back to my room to grab another envelope.”

She just shrugged. “They keep spare envelopes in the closet over there. Just grab one of those.”

Harry shoved Neville behind the large sack of owl pellets and looked around for another hiding spot. If only he’d thought to bring his invisibility cloak!

Harry could hear Malfoy slowly getting closer. He could hear Nott complaining. “Why are you studying Mind Magic anyway? If you’re trying so hard to stay under the radar, is it really worth the risk?”

Pansy agreed. “If your new buddy Potter finds out you’re reading books on Mind Magic, that little beacon of Light is going to go straight to the Ministry and report you.”

Even Zabini seemed concerned. “Or more likely he’ll run to the old man. Everyone knows the headmaster’s got Potter wrapped around his finger. I bet Dumbledore’s little whipping boy would be only too happy to run along to his master if he even suspected you might be interested in any form of Ancient Magic.”

Harry frowned as he tried desperately to fit under the bottom shelf of mail supplies. So, Mind Magic _was_ a form of Ancient Magic, and Dumbledore had made it illegal. Why? And if Dumbledore was so against it, why had he been so insistent that Harry learn Occlumency last year?

“I told you, I know what I’m doing.” Harry froze when he heard Malfoy’s voice just on the other side of the door. “Besides, none of you really knows anything about Potter. He’s…well…he’s not quite what I thought at first. I just assumed he was some Golden Boy who was obsessed with Light Magic, but there’s more to him than just that.”

“Fine,” Blaise conceded. “Maybe Potter is a complex, multi-facetted person full of depth and nuance. You know you still can’t trust him, though, right?”

 “Blaise, I would have thought you of all people would trust my judgement.” When Harry heard Draco place his hand on the doorknob, he finally had to accept that he just wasn’t going to fit under the shelf. He was small, but he wasn’t quite that small. He stood up to face the music. “I know exactly how to handle Harry Potter.”

The door swung open and Harry lifted his head to meet Malfoy’s eyes. He was standing to the side of the closet so the other Slytherins couldn’t see him, but Malfoy definitely could, and he did not look remotely happy about it. Fortunately, Neville was still well hidden behind the owl pellets, but it definitely looked like Harry was, once again, spying on the Slytherins. Which he supposed he was, in a way.

After the initial shock wore off, Malfoy’s eyes immediately narrowed into slits. Harry wasn’t sure what to say, and then he realized he couldn’t really say anything without giving away to the other Slytherins that he was there. Malfoy probably wasn’t going to attack him, but his friends almost certainly would. Without knowing what else to do, Harry reached over and grabbed an envelope from the nearby shelf. He held it up for Malfoy.

The boy let out a long-suffering sigh, snatched the envelope, and then slammed the door shut on his way out. Harry heard a faint click. Malfoy had locked him in.

Neville peaked his head out from behind the sack of pellets. “Did he see you?”

Harry looked around at the small pantry. He was definitely standing in the middle of it. He wasn’t sure how Neville might possibly suspect that Malfoy had _missed_ him. “Yeah, Neville, he definitely saw me.”

“Why didn’t he say anything?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s part of the truce?”

Since the door was now shut, Harry had to press his ear to the thick wood to try and hear what was happening in the owlery. The voices were all rather muffled until Parkinson’s shrill voice cried out “Draco, what you’re talking about isn’t a truce. If I didn’t know better, it sounds like you’re trying to befriend him!”

“Well, would that be so bad!?”

Harry heard Neville gasp beside him as the other Slytherins erupted.

Parkinson’s voice was filled with betrayal. “Potter’s never given two shites about a single Slytherin in this school!”

Nott’s voice was filled with contempt. “Potter’s the Dark Lord’s number one target. You’re going to get yourself killed!”

Blaise’s voice was filled with worry. “You can’t trust him, Draco. Potter’s just going to hurt you, and then whose shoulder are you going to cry on?”

“Harry?” Neville tugged on Harry’s t-shirt, as the Slytherins went on about how terrible and untrustworthy Harry was. “What’s going on with you and Malfoy? He’s not really your friend, is he?”

“No.” Harry paused. “Well…not really. We’re…I don’t know. I think maybe he’s trying to make amends. But I don’t know why. I think he’s probably got _some sort_ of ulterior motive, but I don’t know what.”

“Hmm,” Neville looked thoughtful. “It would be weird if you and Malfoy were suddenly friends after everything that’s happened between you two.”

“I whole-heartedly agree.”

“I could see why he’d want to be friends with you, though.”

“Really? Because I’m at a loss.” Harry pressed his ear to the door again, but the Slytherins were still spewing nonsense.

“You’re a really good friend, Harry. You’re patient, and loyal, and brave, and everything I wish I was. Who wouldn’t want to be your friend?” Neville blushed as he looked down at his toes. “Sometimes Gran talks about what my dad was like at Hogwarts. How he was so good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, and what a great leader he was, and how much people respected him. I think you’re a lot more like my dad than I’ll ever be.”

Harry turned away from the door and looked at the pitiful young man before him. “Look Neville, there’s something you should know. I never told anyone else. It’s just that, your Gran kept trying to compare me to my dad, too. She was talking just this morning about how great and confident and strong my dad was.”

Neville was giving him a watery smile, and Harry found he couldn’t meet it. He stared at the ceiling as he continued to speak. “A lot of people always talked about how I was like my dad. How my dad was this amazing guy. He was so brave and good-hearted and fun. People kept telling me I was like him.”

“I bet your dad would be really, really proud of you, Harry.” Neville certainly looked proud.

“Maybe,” Harry conceded. “But I’m not sure how proud I would be of him.” Harry glanced at Neville again, to see the boy’s face look almost horror-stuck.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Harry continued. “I love my dad, and he was a good guy…overall. But this is the part no one knows, so please don’t tell anyone.” Neville nodded solemnly. “One time, I found this pensieve full of memories from this guy who went to school with my dad. Don’t ask me how. I wasn’t supposed to look, but I couldn’t help myself. The first chance I got, I went straight through, and I saw my dad when he was my age. Maybe fifteen.”

“That must have been amazing!” Neville was trying to encourage him, but it was having the opposite effect.

“No. It was one of the worst moments of my life. Everyone had always talked about what a great guy my dad was. But he wasn’t. He was a bully. He was some pompous prat strutting around the school like he owned it. I saw him ask out my mum and she told him she’s rather date the giant squid.”

“How is that possible?” Neville asked. “Why’d they get married?”

“I guess he got more mature as he got older.” Harry shrugged. “I asked some of his old friends later. They said he and my mum didn’t start dating until their last year at Hogwarts, after he had done some growing up. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he definitely wasn’t all bad or anything. He was a good guy overall. Very charming. Maybe a bit like the Weasley twins if they had Malfoy’s arrogance.”

Neville nodded. “Ok. But why are you telling me all this?”

“It’s just…people always talked about how great he was. No one ever said a single bad thing about him, and I don’t think they were lying, or at least, I don’t think they meant to. I think people just liked him and missed him and he’d been gone for so long, everyone just remembered his best qualities.”

Understanding dawned in Neville’s eyes. “You think Gran just remembers my dad’s good traits, and not the bad ones?”

“Look, Neville, I’m not saying your dad was a prat or anything like that. I don’t know anything about him. But, I do know you shouldn’t try to compare yourself to your grandmother’s memory of your dad. Because you’re never going to live up, right? She’s spent years thinking about all the things that were great about him, and it’s fine if you want to think of him as this perfect guy. But just remember that no one’s perfect, right?”

“Yeah, ok Harry.” Neville looked lost in thought. “Thanks.”

While Neville processed the implications of Harry’s story, Harry leaned on the door again to try and hear what the Slytherins were up to. He couldn’t hear anything at all. The only sound coming from the owlery was the occasional soft hoot. Had Malfoy just left them locked in the closet?

Harry tapped his wand against door knob and thought ‘Alohamora.’ To his delight, the spell actually worked wordlessly. As he tried to push the door open, he immediately encountered an obstacle, though. Harry could hear an annoyed “Ow!” as the door pushed against something hard.

Harry peaked around the side of the door. “Malfoy! How long were you eavesdropping?”

“How long were you?” the blonde countered.

“At least we only did it on accident. It’s not our fault a big gang of Slytherins came up to the owlery while we were here, and we were trying to avoid a fight.”

“Well, it’s not my fault I went to let you out and I couldn’t help but overhear you saying the words ‘There’s something you should know. I never told anyone else.’ What did you expect me to do after that?”

“Piss off!” Harry wasn’t sure if he was answering Malfoy’s question or just responding to it. Either way, as soon as Malfoy stepped out of the path of the door, Harry shoved it open the rest of the way and stormed toward the exit.

Harry wanted to be angry that Malfoy had overheard one of his most personal stories, and in a way, he was. But another, traitorous part of him, was glad that Malfoy had heard. Some small part of him felt relieved, even, that Malfoy understood where he was coming from. Besides, for some unfathomable reason, Harry really didn’t think Malfoy would tell the other students. 

***

Severus threw photo after photo straight into the fireplace, burning away the faded images of cats swatting at the camera, litters of kittens, and angry eyes glaring out from underneath a couch. The woman had claimed there were some photos in this ridiculous pile that actually featured the boy, and Severus was determined to find them. By the time he reached the end of the stack, he had only found two.

The first photo was of a young Potter, perhaps six or seven, sitting on the same armchair that Severus had occupied earlier. He was small, scrawny, and covered with five different cats. He seemed about as pleased with this development as Severus had been.

The second photo also included a cat. In fact, it appeared to simply be a photo taken of her cat sitting on the railing of her front porch. In the background, though, was Potter, running up the street as though his life depended on it. Lumbering after Potter, was what appeared to be a pig in a wig. The child was quite possibly the largest boy Severus had ever seen, with a round, mean face, and a splash of blonde hair.

Severus set the photos aside for now. They didn’t move like wizarding photos would, but he could easily imagine the scene they set. In both photos, Potter had looked almost unhealthy; so frail and skinny and pale. His comically baggy clothes only seemed to draw more attention to this fact. It seemed the puzzle pieces were all fitting together, but Severus did not like the picture they were revealing. He would need to dig up more clues.

***

_Harry opened his eyes to a room he was extremely familiar with. The large, circular space was lined with portraits of snoozing headmasters and headmistresses. Fawkes’s perch stood empty in the far corner. There was even the ornate cabinet where Dumbledore kept the pensieve when not in use. The only difference between this office and his memories, was that sitting behind the large oak desk was not Albus Dumbledore, but Tom Marvolo Riddle._

_“How dare you sit there!” Harry marched up to the front of the desk, glaring at the other young man all the while. “That’s the headmaster’s seat. You haven’t earned the right to sit in that chair.”_

_Riddle was reclining in the ornate piece of furniture, looking quite comfortable while examining one of Dumbledore’s spindly objects. “Neither have at least half the headmasters and headmistresses who have occupied this seat.” He didn’t even bother to spare Harry a glance as he spoke._

_“Dumbledore did!” Harry could barely keep his voice even. He had gotten pretty used to these strange dreams with Tom Riddle and had barely batted an eye when he saw those angelic brunette locks or those snake-like red eyes. But there was just something about Riddle occupying Dumbledore’s rightful seat that didn’t sit well with Harry. “Dumbledore earned that seat.”_

_Riddle gave an exasperated sigh and narrowed his slitted eyes at Harry, finally making contact. “That’s an interesting perspective.” He turned back to fiddle with the silver object, although he barely seemed to be paying attention. “I suppose an argument could be made that Dumbledore earned his position. It’s certainly true that of all the many terrible things the man has done, he certainly worked his way to his position of power through his own cunning and ingenuity, as opposed to favors, bribery, or nepotism, as so many other headmasters and headmistresses have done.”_

_Harry scowled at the implications of that comment. “Dumbledore isn’t some cunning mastermind.”_

_“Even you know that’s not true.”_

_Harry scowled, but didn’t have much else to say. He knew Dumbledore wasn’t some evil mastermind, but the man did have a cunning mind, and he did always seem to have some master plan that he was working toward that he was very tight-lipped about. At least Riddle had consented that Dumbledore did earn the right to sit in that seat. That was probably the closest thing to a compromise they would reach on the subject of Albus Dumbledore._

_Without anywhere else to go, Harry pulled up one of the chintzy seats in front of Dumbledore’s desk. It was, in fact, the same antique chair he had sat in many times before, with the same old-fashioned floral print. Instead of going for the spindly objects, Harry reached for the bowl of lemon drops and plopped one into his mouth. It tasted like the memory of lemon drops, like the echo of a flavor. It was faint, and he could barely feel it on his tongue unless he concentrated._

_“You seem rather familiar with this office,” Riddle noted, as he reached for a different spindly object. “As I recall from my days at Hogwarts, most students never even saw the headmaster’s office, since you need a password to even enter.”_

_Harry just shrugged and tried to hold onto the memory of what Dumbledore’s lemon drops usually tasted like. “Usually, if something is the case for most people, I tend to be the glaring exception.”_

_Riddle smirked. “So, does Dumbledore call you into his office whenever he’s bored so he can shower you with praise and encouragement, the way Dippet used to do with me?”_

_Harry forgot all about the lemon drop. “Dippet did that with you?”_

_Riddle set down the silvery instrument and reached for yet another. “I, too, have always been a glaring exception to the norm.”_

_Riddle’s gaze was heated with excitement, and it made Harry slightly uncomfortable. He slid the chair back out and started pacing around the room. It felt a little strange to wonder around the headmaster’s office without Dumbledore present, almost like an invasion of his privacy. But it wasn’t half as perverse as sitting in his usual seat while Tom Riddle, of all people, claimed Dumbledore’s rightful place._

_“I don’t think Dumbledore ever called me to his office just to compliment me or whatever. And he’s not really the type to shower anyone with praise. He’s appreciative and all, but not much of a gusher.” Harry strolled past the cabinet that held the pensieve and tapped it as he passed. It felt real enough. “I think most of the times that I’ve been sent to this office were because I was in trouble, or at least because something bad had happened.”_

_Riddle set down the spindly object he was holding and gave Harry his full, undivided attention. “You were in trouble? With Dumbledore? Why?”_

_“I don’t know, this and that.” Harry walked past Fawkes’s perch and tried not to meet Riddle’s hungry gaze. “The first time I was sent here, I was sure I was going to be expelled. It was second year, and everyone seemed to think I was the Heir of Slytherin.” At Riddle’s disbelieving sneer, Harry clarified. “Well, most of the Hufflepuffs seemed to think I was the Heir of Slytherin, since it had gotten out that I was a parselmouth. I think a lot of the Slytherins and Gryffindors were still pretty skeptical. But then I found the petrified body of this one Hufflepuff boy, Justin, and everyone thought I’d tried to murder him to shut him up. So, I was sent straight to Dumbledore.”_

_“And what happened?”_

_“I killed his bloody bird…or at least, I thought I did.” Harry placed his hand on the empty perch. “I walked in and the poor thing didn’t look so good, but when I tried to pet him, he burst into flames right before my eyes.” Harry was a little surprised to hear soft laughter coming from the headmaster’s usual seat. “I didn’t know what to do! I thought I’d killed Dumbledore’s bird, and I didn’t even know how I’d done it. I thought for sure he was going to expel me after that. I mean, his pet bird was just a pile of ashes.”_

_Harry paused when he heard Riddle’s laugher escalate. “You thought you had murdered Dumbledore’s prized phoenix! That’s brilliant!” Riddle stood up from the headmaster’s seat, and sauntered closer to Harry, his eyes alight with mischief. “I want to see a pensieve memory of you telling the old man that you accidentally snuffed out his favorite pet. Oh, please tell me he thought it might be true for just a moment. Please tell me he was worried!”_

_Harry stepped back from Fawkes’s perch as Riddle slowly crept toward it from the opposite side. Harry was a little shocked to see so much amusement on Riddle’s face. It didn’t seem like it belonged. “He was worried for a moment when he walked into his office and I was practically having a panic attack. But then I told him his bird burst into flames and he just laughed it off.”_

_Riddle now had an arm draped over the perch quite casually. “Of course he laughed. I would have also.” Despite being in his enemy’s lair, Riddle gave off every impression that he was perfectly comfortable with his environment. Riddle would probably be able to balance a book on his head with no issue. Hell, he could probably curse a little old lady and strangle a puppy without even making it wobble._

_Harry scowled at his effortless grace. “It’s not that funny, you know.”_

_Riddle kept his hand on the perch, but the rest of his body circled around the post, closer to Harry. “Your ignorance is rather humorous. After all, it’s common knowledge that Dumbledore owns a phoenix. Was it really so surprising that the large, red and gold bird burst into flames?”_

_“Yes! It was!” Harry argued as he tried to walk around Riddle, back toward the front of the room. “Normal people don’t keep pets that randomly burst into flames. It’s not my fault I assumed that burning into ash was unusual behavior for the bird.”_

_Riddle continued to smirk as he strolled around the room like he owned it. He appeared to be walking in no particular direction, but Harry found that no matter which direction he went, Riddle seemed to keep getting closer. “Very well, Harry. I suppose I’ll have to concur. People really oughtn’t keep pets that burst into flame.” Harry rolled his eyes. Riddle was the last person who should be criticizing other people’s pets. “But tell me, Harry. Why was that your first_ _visit to the headmaster’s office? What about your previous year at Hogwarts?”_

_Harry moved closer to the snoozing portraits. The previous headmasters and headmistresses had shown no sign of life since Harry had arrived in the dream office. “I never had a reason to come here my first year.”_

_“Really?” Riddle appeared to be sauntering toward one the shelves, but again, his path took him closer still to Harry. “Even when you thought someone was trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone?”_

_“Well, in the end, when we were sure Snape was going to go after it soon, we did try to tell Dumbledore, but he’d already been called to the ministry. That’s why we took matters into our own hands.”_

_Riddle quirked a curious brow at him. “You didn’t think to warn Dumbledore until the very night the Stone was about to be stolen? I know you saw Lord Voldemort in the forest long before that night, or at least what was left of him. It didn’t occur to you to run to the headmaster about that?”_

_Harry paused. It hadn’t, actually. Why hadn’t it occurred to him to warn Dumbledore that Voldemort was in the forest drinking unicorn blood? “I don’t know. I guess I figured no one would believe me. Adults never listen, and they never really do anything to help. I guess, at the time, I didn’t have any reason to think Dumbledore would be different.”_

_Riddle was looking quite intently at Harry now. He ceased his pretense of a casual stroll, and began to stalk in a direct path toward Harry. “You didn’t trust Dumbledore?”_

_Harry quickly darted out of Riddle’s path and tried to get the desk in between them. “I didn’t really trust_ anyone _. I never had a reason to. And I didn’t really know Dumbledore back then; we’d barely spoken. I really only knew him by reputation.” Harry edged around the desk until he was on Dumbledore’s usual side, while Riddle still edged closer to the front of the desk. “But I know better now. Now I know that Dumbledore will believe what I say. Now I know I can trust him, and he’ll always try to do what’s best for me.”_

_Riddle leaned across the desk, bringing his sculpted face as close to Harry as he could get with the oak desk between them. “Like he did what was best for Sirius Black?”_

_Harry shot forward and grabbed Riddle by the collar of his starched white uniform. “How dare you! How dare you even say that name!” Harry shook Riddle by his lapels, but the other young man made absolutely no attempt to dislodge himself. “You don’t know anything about Sirius. And there wasn’t anything Dumbledore could have done. It’s Bellatrix’s fault. Bellatrix and Voldemort. How dare you blame Dumbledore!”_

_Harry was a little surprised at how many feelings rushed to the surface when Riddle had spoken that name. After all, it was only a few months ago that Harry was in this same office arguing the exact opposite of what he was now screaming at Tom Riddle. But back then, his anger and pain had been so fresh, and he had been looking for anyone he could blame but himself. Now, even though the memory of Sirius was still painful, it was even more painful to hear Tom bloody Riddle of all people blame Dumbledore for that pain._

_Riddle, however, seemed almost completely unaffected my Harry’s screaming and shaking. He didn’t even have a hair out of place as he leaned forward so that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. “Bellatrix is just a tool, Harry. A weapon. Of course Lord Voldemort was going to send his best tools to carry out his task. But would you have even been there that night, would Sirius Black have been there, if Dumbledore had been honest with you from the start?”_

_“He just made a mistake.” Harry heard the desperation in his voice. He wanted so badly for those words to be true. His hands fell to his sides and he barely noticed that Riddle’s fingers were clasping around his own shirt collar. “He didn’t want me to get hurt. He was trying to protect me. Dumbledore’s the only one I can count on.”_

_“Oh, you can count on Dumbledore all right!” Riddle suddenly shoved Harry back, so he landed roughly in the chair behind him. Dumbledore’s chair. “You can count on him to do whatever he feels is necessary to create the vision of the future that he wants to ensure.” Riddle lifted his knee so that it was on the desk, and began crawling forward, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. “You can count on Dumbledore that if anyone has to be tossed aside in order to ensure his vision of the future, he will sacrifice any number of pawns to see that his victory over Dark Magic is assured.”_

_Harry couldn’t take his eyes off Riddle’s livid face, a face that was slowly getting closer and closer. “No.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Dumbledore’s not like that. That’s what Voldemort is like. It’s Voldemort that sacrifices people, even his own followers, not Dumbledore.”_

_When Riddle finished crawling over the desk, like a prowling cat, he swung his legs over the edge so that he was sitting right where the desk ended, mere inches from his prey. Harry had no idea how Riddle managed to do this with any amount of dignity, let alone, almost perfect poise. Harry suspected that if Riddle had been balancing Miss Marple’s Guide to Etiquette, it would have stayed on his head throughout the entire maneuver._

_“Why Harry,” his voice was like a purr. “Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort are not so different. Merely two sides of a war. And each side is willing to do whatever it takes to win.”_

_Harry shook his head again, but did not break contact with those deep red eyes. “No. There are things Dumbledore wouldn’t be willing to do. Things he would never stoop to. Things that no decent person…”_

_Harry’s voice cut out when Riddle leapt off the edge of the desk and surged forward, grabbing Harry by the chin. “Oh Harry!” Riddle simpered. Then he leaned in so close to Harry’s ear that he could feel those soft lips brush against his earlobe. “What makes you think Dumbledore is a decent person?”_

***

Harry gulped as he sat up in his four-poster bed, panting and sweating. It was just a dream, he reminded himself. Just a dream. That was all. Or was it?


	11. Slughorn and Mundungus

__The next day in Potions, Slughorn asked them to get into pairs so that they could work together to brew the very complicated Skele-Gro potion. Harry had very painful memories of that potion from second year Quidditch, but he knew he would rather have it than not have any bones.

When Harry turned to Ron, naturally assuming that the two would be partners, Harry was a little surprised to see that Ron had already placed his cauldron next to Hermione’s. The young man was even volunteering to grab the ingredients for her. “I might not be that great at potions, but I’m sure I’ll do ok with your help, Hermione.”

Harry couldn’t help but wonder why Ron would choose the help of Hermione over the Half-Blood Prince. Ron had been strangely clingy with Hermione ever since Saturday, when Hermione had shown interest in Malfoy’s book collection. The redhead now insisted on sitting next to her at every meal, and even followed her to the library on Sunday for extra study hours. It was as though he were afraid she would wonder over and join the Slytherins if he let her out of his sight.

Ron set down the ingredients while Harry was still looking around for a partner of his own. “Here you go, Hermione. See, I can be helpful, too. I may not have some big fancy library, but I’m a way better partner than Draco Malfoy would ever be.”

“Ron, what are you talking about?” Hermione didn’t even look up from her task as she verified that he had brought the right ingredients. “Why would I partner with Draco Malfoy? Now you’re just being silly. He always partners with Zabini anyways.”

At her words, Harry looked over at Blaise Zabini, but he didn’t see the tall young man next to Malfoy. Instead, the other Slytherin had decided to partner with Terry Boot from Ravenclaw. Harry looked around for Malfoy, and found him alone in the corner, sorting through his ingredients on his own. How did Malfoy not have a partner? Why weren’t any of the other Slytherins working with him? Were they really that upset that Malfoy was acting decent towards Harry?

Harry wondered if he should offer to partner up with Malfoy, since this was sort of his fault. However, before he could gather the courage, he heard a soft “Harry?” from behind him. He turned around to see Ernie MacMillan of Hufflepuff dragging his cauldron over. “Would you like to partner up? I already grabbed all the ingredients we’ll need.”

Before Harry answered, he glanced back over at Malfoy one last time. Some Ravenclaw girl was grudgingly approaching the only person left without a partner. Harry’ guilt was slightly abated. “Yeah alright, Ernie, but let’s use your textbook. Mine’s got scribbles all over it.” Harry didn’t want it to become common knowledge that he was getting secret help from the Prince, so he let Ernie take the lead for today.

***

This time, when Harry left Potions class, he wasn’t remotely surprised when a pale hand reached out and yanked him behind the tapestry. Once Malfoy lit the tip of his wand, Harry offered him a half smile. “You know, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

“Shut it, Potter.” The blonde pulled out a thick text from his bag with the title: Meditation and Breathing Techniques for Clearing your Mind. “Here’s your book. I hope you’re a little more appreciative about this one, since it’s caused me a good deal of trouble.”

“Yeah.” Harry lifted the book carefully, trying not to upset Malfoy any more. “Sorry about all that. Who knew a truce would upset so many people?”

“I knew they wouldn’t be happy.” Malfoy began striding down the narrow passageway, taking the long route to the Great Hall, and Harry followed along willingly. “Especially Theo. I knew he would use it as an excuse to try and steal my position in the hierarchy. I expect that from him.” Harry really did not understand Slytherin dynamics at all. “But Blaise! He doesn’t even want to work with me in class now. I thought…I just thought we were better friends than that.”

Harry pushed open the back of the portrait and held it open for Malfoy to follow. The taller young man jumped down easily onto the flagstones beside Harry. “Look, Malfoy, I’m sorry things are weird with you and your friends and your girlfriend.”

Malfoy’s steps faltered. “Girlfriend? What girlfriend? What are you talking about?”

Harry stopped when he realized Malfoy wasn’t following. “Pansy? She’s your girlfriend, right?”

“What? No. We’re just friends. She’s not…my type,” he tripped over his words.

“Oh.” Harry shrugged and started walking down the corridor again. “Sorry. Anyway, I do appreciate the books you’ve been giving me. That Dream Magic one was a lot more useful than the ones in the Room of Requirement. Plus, that genealogy thing was actually pretty neat. At least now I know how I’m related to the Blacks. My grandma was one.”

“My mother is a Black. That’s her maiden name.” Malfoy started up the stairs first, and Harry followed.

“That’s neat. You and I are probably like third cousins or something. Gosh, I really need to do that Blood Inheritance Test thing and figure out who all I’m related to.”

“You haven’t done a Blood Inheritance Test!?” Suddenly, the steps lurched beneath them and the entire staircase swiveled toward a new landing.

Harry barely grasped the railing before he tumbled backward. “How does this keep happening to us?”

“Because we keep taking the same route at the same time.” Malfoy didn’t seem remotely phased by the changing stairs. “Now tell me, Potter, you haven’t done a Blood Inheritance Test? Why? When are you taking one? You’re taking one soon, right?”

“Bloody hell, Malfoy, why do you care so much?” The stairs reached their new destination, and Harry cut past the Slytherin to get off before the staircase could change its mind again.

“I care, Potter, because you’re from a noble family and you don’t even really know who you are. How can you possibly live your whole life not even knowing who you are or where you came from? What if something happened to you? What if…you died…and you never even knew who you really were?”

“Er, I don’t know. Would a blood test tell me who I _really am_? What does that even mean?” Harry walked down the gallery of disgruntled portraits, with Malfoy right beside him. “Would a blood test tell _you_ who _you_ are?”

“I did take a Blood Inheritance Test, when I was thirteen, like every other pureblood. And do you know what it told me? That I am a Malfoy. The Heir of Malfoy, to be precise. And I come from generations of Malfoys and other distinguished pureblood families.” The blonde lifted his chin and gave Harry a defiant look, as if he were just waiting for the other boy to hit him with some snarky comeback to that obnoxious answer.

Harry did have to hold his tongue for a moment to stop himself from teasing Malfoy; the Slytherin was so proud of something that seemed so ridiculous to Harry. In the end, he managed to give an earnest smile. “Well, I’ll be honest. That does sound a bit silly, but it is neat that you know so much about where you come from. It would be nice to have something like that.”

At least Harry knew why he never had an Inheritance Test before. That had been the summer Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban. So, all the adults in his life had probably been pretty distracted.

“You should take an Inheritance Test during the next Hogsmeade trip, the first one’s coming up soon.” Malfoy followed along in step with Harry as they left the glaring portraits behind and entered another gallery full of suits of armor. “You just need to get to Gringotts. If you tell them you’re the Potter Heir and pay a convenience fee, they’ll let you take it right on the spot.”

“Really?” Harry slid down another secret passage that would get them closer to the Great Hall, Malfoy at his side. “That would be great, but there’s no way I can even get to Diagon Alley, let alone Gringotts.”

Malfoy waved that off. “Just take the floo. The ones at Hogwarts are on serious lockdown, but there’s one in the Three Broomsticks. It will take you straight to the Leaky Cauldron, and you can walk from there.”

“Oh sure, I’ll just waltz down the street, no problem.” Harry pulled aside a curtain, and the two of them popped out of the secret passageway and into one of the main corridors on the ground floor. “I think you’re forgetting, Malfoy, that I’m just a tad recognizable.”

Malfoy suddenly looked just as devious as when he had first held out Neville’s Remembrall and dared Harry to chase him. It really should have set off all sorts of alarms in Harry’s mind, but for some reason, it excited him rather than worried him.

“Oh, you’re quite recognizable with this ridiculous hair.” Malfoy swatted a few stray wisps. “And hideous spectacles.” He flicked the hinge of Harry’s glasses. “And scratched up forehead.” He bopped his finger right on Harry’s scar. “But no one’s going to recognize you if you take a Polyjuice potion.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “You have Polyjuice potion?”

That cocky smirk. “I have Polyjuice potion.”

“From where? You didn’t brew it yourself, did you?”

“I could have. Believe it or not, I’m actually quite good at potions.” Malfoy opened a heavy door, so they were now in the front Entrance Hall. “But no, I stole it from Slughorn, if you must know. The very first day of class when he was showing us those sample potions.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “So, you have Polyjuice potion? And you would let _me_ use it?”

Malfoy nodded, but he said, “On one condition.”

Harry hesitated for a moment. They were standing at the large open doors leading to the Great Hall. Neither one of them had crossed the threshold, since they would immediately have to part ways. After all, the Gryffindor Table and the Slytherin Table were on opposite sides of the room. Harry ignored the students who were halfway through lunch and kept his attention entirely on Malfoy. “Alright, I’ll bite. What do you want?”

“I want to go with you. To Diagon Alley and Gringotts.”

Harry quirked a brow. “I thought you were trying to stay out of trouble? You know we could get a month’s worth of detentions if we’re caught. Maybe even suspended.”

“I know.” Malfoy ran his fingers through his soft, blonde hair. “But I still want to do it. It’s worth the risk.”

“Why?”

Malfoy looked so pale and unsure again, but he spoke with confidence. “I just feel like I owe you that much at least. After everything. If something happens to you…later. If you’re killed in the war or whatever, at least you’ll have gotten the answers you were looking for…before the end.” Malfoy let out a sigh. “I just…I never realized that you didn’t know anything about yourself. And you should. You should know who you are and where you come from. I feel like helping you figure that out is probably the least I can do. Just let me assuage s _ome_ of my guilt, ok?”

Despite the fact that Malfoy had barely made eye contact during his little confession, Harry couldn’t help but feel that his old rival was telling the truth. It was a strange feeling, trusting Draco Malfoy. “Yeah, alright Malfoy. If you let me use your potion, you can tag along. At least I know you’re not going to snitch on me, if it means you’ll get in trouble as well.”

They parted ways agreeing that they would sort out the details later.

***

The amount of homework being thrust at them hadn’t subsided in the least by mid-October. Harry and Ron had more or less developed a system for getting all their homework done, while still attending twice-a-week Quidditch practices. It took a lot of help from Hermione, and they usually worked with Neville as well, for Defense and Herbology. Fortunately, their first essays and assignments for the year had been returned with grades just adequate enough that they could still be accepted into the Auror program.

The continuing lessons with Augusta Longbottom were boring but bearable. Harry was definitely improving in his ability to catch books that fell off his head, at least. During their last meeting, she had indicated that Harry was ready to practice a Formal Tea, which meant that they were moving along quicker than she had first anticipated. Thank Merlin.

Harry was also quite proud that he had managed to avoid every single Slug Club meeting so far that year. This despite Professor Slughorn’s continued attempts to plan all the meeting times around Harry’s schedule. It took a bit of creative lying, but Ginny was happy to always pass on the message to Slughorn that quidditch practice was definitely on Thursday, only for it to suddenly ‘change’ to Friday at the last minute, or vice versa. Obviously, Hermione didn’t particularly approve. But she also knew that Harry was stretched enough as it was, so she restrained herself to the occasional exasperated sigh.

Of course, all of this meant that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had almost no free time to practice their breathing or meditation techniques. They had all read through the first few chapters of Malfoy’s book (Hermione had practically memorized the thing). So, they knew what it was they were supposed to be doing. However, there was a big difference between reading about a state of perfect calm and actually achieving a state of perfect calm.

Every time Harry tried to slow his breathing and clear all his thoughts, he found himself getting too upset about what he’d read in the news, or what was going on with the Werewolf Dark Creature bill, or what excuse Snape had come up with to take points from Gryffindor in their latest class. He could clear his thoughts ok, but he just couldn’t clear his feelings. For some reason, Harry’s emotions seemed to spike every time he tried to relax.

Hermione was having the opposite issue. Clearing her feelings seemed to increase her thoughts. She said that every time she tried to clear her mind, she kept remembering something that she ought to be doing, or something she should have mentioned in her most recent essay. So far, her foray into Mind Magic had led to several bouts of inspiration for ways she could improve her assignments. However, she hadn’t really made any progress toward occlumency.

Finally, Ron was having a different issue altogether. It seemed that he had no problem slowing his breathing or clearing his mind at all. However, the last few times he had attempted this, Harry and Hermione had found him snoring in an armchair about ten minutes later. While falling asleep was definitely one way to keep someone from reading your mind, they were pretty sure that mastering occlumency required you to be awake.

So, by the time the first Hogsmeade trip finally rolled around, Harry was pretty excited to visit Gringotts and learn about his family history, but a little embarrassed that he’d have to admit to Malfoy that none of their trio were ready for any new books on Mind Magic. They were all still trying to master step one.

***

On Saturday morning, the students finally had their first chance of the year to leave the school grounds and visit Hogsmeade village. Harry and his two best friends were pleased to be rid of Filch’s latest security measure, his obnoxious Sneak-O-Scope. At least, until they made it into the fresh air and realized how unseasonably cold it was for October. The entire walk to Hogsmeade, they huddled close together, shivering and trying to hide from the chilly winds. However, Harry still took the opportunity to go over their plans.

“Ok,” he began explaining through chattering teeth. “McGonagall told me there’s going to be extra security in Hogsmeade today. Apparently, the whole village is crawling with Aurors. That means we need to head straight for the Three Broomsticks, find the first two adults we can, and get a couple hairs without anyone noticing. Malfoy should be there shortly after us, and I’m sure he’ll complain if we make him wait alone in the bathroom for too long.”

They had decided not to take the Polyjuice potion until they arrived in Hogsmeade, since the effects only lasted an hour and it took about twenty minutes to walk to the village even at a quick pace. Besides, if they used the hairs of some patrons at the pub, it would look less suspicious than a couple random students, who might appear too young to be wondering around Diagon Alley alone.

“Are you sure you want to do this, mate?” Ron prodded. “I mean, maybe you and I can just pinch Malfoy’s Polyjuice potion, leave him at the pub, and go just the two of us? It’ll be a regular adventure like old times!”

Despite Hermione’s general disapproval of anything against the rules, it had been Ron who was most outspoken against Harry’s plan to sneak to Gringotts. However, his strong aversion to the whole idea seemed to center entirely around the fact that Malfoy was involved. Despite Harry’s reassurances, Ron was convinced that Malfoy was going to use the situation as an excuse to do _something_ against Harry. The problem was, none of them could come up with any reasonable theories about what that _something_ could be.

Harry was getting a little tired of arguing about it. Even Hermione had conceded that it was probably safer to bring Malfoy along, since they would have a form of insurance in case Malfoy decided to snitch on Harry.

Harry tried explaining the situation one more time. “Look, Ron, if we steal his potion, he’s just going to run straight to a teacher to let them know we snuck out of Hogsmeade. Even if he gets in trouble for having the potion to begin with, he’ll know that we’re going to get in a lot more trouble. Besides, while I’m off with him, I need you to act as my decoy, remember? There’s no way I want Malfoy pretending to be me for an hour. Merlin knows what he’d get up to.”

“I really hope this is worth it, Harry,” Hermione said. “This is an awful lot of risk. I just hope the reward compares.”

***

They had barely passed into the main shopping area of the small village when Harry heard a boisterous voice. “Harry, m’boy! What a coincidence!”

“Oh no,” Harry muttered as the trio was intercepted by the rotund form of Horace Slughorn. The man was just making his way out of Honeydukes, his arms laden with bags of sweets. Harry really was in no mood to make small talk with the overenthusiastic Potions professor. Not only did they need to hurry and get to the Three Broomsticks so they could steal some hair from some strangers, he was also eager to get out of the biting Autumn winds. “Er, hello sir. We were just heading to the pub, actually. Going to warm up. We’ll see you later.”

“Oh, what a wonderful idea! I’ll join you.”

Harry sighed inwardly as Slughorn squeezed between him and Hermione, completely ignoring Ron’s existence. “So, Harry, m’boy. You’ve been quite busy with all those Quidditch practices. But I think I’ve got your schedule figured out now. This next week we’re going to have a Slug Club meeting on Monday. I know for a fact you don’t have Quidditch that day. So, you should be able to make it, correct?”

Harry almost laughed at the coincidence. “Actually, no sir. I have a meeting with Dumbledore that night.”

It was true. After several days of silence, Hedwig had finally returned with Dumbledore’s response about a week ago.

_Dear Harry,_

_I’m very pleased to hear that you are making progress with Augusta. She has written to me, as well, and speaks highly of you._

_I’m also delighted to hear that you have taken an enthusiastic interest in the Werewolf Dark Creature Bill. This is actually a very important bill for our side, and I’m glad to know I have your support. Fortunately, the situation is not imminent, and we will have time to discuss the matter in person before any voting takes place._

_I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long. Please believe that the work I am doing is important. I will return to the school next weekend, and I would like to hold our next lesson on Monday the 14 th of October._

_In the meantime, please make sure you are still focusing on your studies and do keep safe._

_Sincerely,_

_Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

_P.S. I have already begun work on Mr. Shunpike’s Defense. I will certainly let you know if there is anything you can do that will help his case._

 

Harry tried not to look too pleased at Slughorn’s disappointed expression. “Sorry sir, but I made plans with the headmaster over a week ago, and I’m afraid it can’t be changed now.”

“Well, that is understandable, but you really must come to a meeting soon. Miss Granger here just loves them! Why don’t you tell him, m’girl?”

Hermione blushed. “Oh, er, yes. They’re actually quite…” She caught a glimpse at Ron’s sour expression. “…boring?” she half-mumbled as if hoping Slughorn wouldn’t hear her.

Fortunately, the Potions professor, at this point, wasn’t paying the least attention. As they came upon the cheerful pub, the man had spotted two familiar faces. “Why, if it isn’t Abe! And Mr. Fletcher! What are you two up to this fine morning?”

Harry followed Slughorn’s line of sight toward two people he had seen before. The shorter figure was the bandy-legged, poorly shaven form of Mundungus Fletcher. He was looking as shifty as always. Harry also recognized the taller figure as the surly old man who ran the Hog’s Head. Apparently, his name was Abe.

The silvery haired bartender barely spared Harry and his friends a glance before he mumbled “Just leaving,” and headed off down the street.

While Harry and the others were distracted, he heard Slughorn shout “Ow!”

Harry immediately turned to see the professor giving Hermione a suspicious look. “Sorry, professor,” she apologized, looking perfectly contrite. Harry watched her quickly stow her hands back in her pocket. “You had a bug in your hair, but I think I got it.” When Harry met Hermione’s eyes, she gave him a significant look, and he knew they had one hair taken care of. They just needed one more.

“Oh. Well, thank you, I suppose.” Slughorn turned back to Mundungus, who seemed to be trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible. “Anyway, Mr. Fletcher, it is quite fortuitous running into you. I heard through the grapevine that you have recently come into possession of some inexpensive, second-hand cauldrons and perhaps some other potion supplies. I’d love to discuss prices.”

“Er, could be.” Mundungus looked exceptionally nervous and he kept glancing between Slughorn and Harry. The latter had no doubt that Mundungus was trying to pawn off stolen goods, but he wasn’t quite sure why the cagey man was looking so apprehensive at seeing Harry. After all, Harry had met Mundungus several times before. It wasn’t as though they had a contentious relationship. Yet, the ginger-haired man seemed to be holding his battered suitcase to his chest like a shield.

“Now now, Mr. Fletcher. Don’t be so shy. As long as your prices are reasonable, you know I’m good for it.” Slughorn watched as Mundungus’s eyes once again darted toward Harry. “Oh, don’t you worry about young Harry here. He’s quite the potions expert as well. In fact, he might be interested in some potion’s ingredients for himself.”

Mundungus seemed anything but reassured at Slughorn’s words. “Yeah, right. Maybe we could discuss this later Mr. Slughorn. We could chat another time…in private.”

 “Of course. If you’re busy, I understand. I just wanted Harry here to know what an excellent source of ingredients you are.” He elbowed Harry encouragingly, but couldn’t put his arm on Harry’s shoulder like usual, since they were still filled with Honeydukes bags. “Harry, m’boy, you remember Mr. Fletcher here. His prices are half what they charge at the apothecary. And he can usually get things that aren’t as widely…approved of. Perhaps you two could exchange contact information.”

Mundungus looked almost green at this point. “Er…maybe another time.”

“It’s ok,” Harry really wasn’t sure what was going on with the old thief, but he tried to put the man out of his misery. “I already know how to get ahold of him if I need to.” The man was in the Order after all.

“You do!?” Instead of looking relieved, Mundungus seemed horrified by this revelation.

“Oh wonderful!” Slughorn boasted, completely misreading the situation, or perhaps just not caring. “You know, Miss Granger, you should get into contact with Mr. Fletcher as well.”

“I should?” Both Hermione and Ron seemed completely baffled by what was going on.

“Yes, of course. You have a head for books, as I recall, and Mr. Fletcher here seems to have access to quite a library that he’s been selling at a very reasonable rate. Why just this last summer he sold me a particularly ancient Grimoire that was filled with some very impressive secret magic. No idea where he found the thing. Very impressive contacts he must have. Why, I thought there was only one copy left in Britain, which belonged to the Black Family, but then he…”

Slughorn’s voice petered out as Harry grabbed Mundungus by his collar and slammed him into the side of the Three Broomsticks. “It belonged to the Black Family?!” The wiry little man tried to scramble out from beneath the Gryffindor, but Harry held tight. “You’ve been stealing his stuff? How long have you been casing the place?”

“What is the meaning of this young man?” Slughorn stammered, as Mundugus dropped his suitcase in his attempt to shove Harry off him. The battered old case fell to the ground with a thump and a pile of stolen silverware and candlesticks spilled out into the chilly air.

“Did you know Sirius named me his heir?” Harry shouted at Mundugus. The ginger-haired man shook like a leaf in the wind. “Did you know it was _my stuff_ you were selling off? What price would have given me for those bloody ingredients? Do I get half off if they’re already mine?”

“Harry,” Hermione whispered. “People are watching.”

“Harry, mate, come on. We’re late already. He’s not worth it.” Ron reminded him.

Harry was too mad to think rationally. He didn’t actually care that Mundungus would have tried to sell him his own belongings. He already knew Dung was a conman and a trickster. What bothered him was that the bastard was stealing _Sirius’s_ things. Sure, Sirius hadn’t really cared about that stuff, but his godfather had still taken the time to pass them on to Harry. And Harry would be damned if he let Sirius’s final gifts to him be sold off by Mundungus Fletcher.

On the other hand, they really were running late. Malfoy was probably fuming, waiting around in the loo. “If I ever catch you with Black family heirlooms again, you’ll find out exactly why they’re considered a Dark Family.” Harry wasn’t exactly sure what he was threatening, but it seemed to do the trick. As soon as he let go of the shorter man’s robes, Dung crumpled away and went running down the street. He didn’t even bother to grab the suitcase.

Slughorn mumbled something about giving Mr. Fletcher a stern talking to and rushed after him.

“I’d bet five galleons that ‘stern talk’ involves the price of cauldrons,” Ron muttered.

“Whatever,” Harry sighed, as he scooped the silver back into the battered old case. “I guess I’ll just hold on to this stuff for now. I’m certainly not going to trust Mundungus to put it back. If I ever see that bastard again it will be too soon.”

“I don’t know, Harry.” Hermione leaned forward and plucked a wiry ginger hair from his shoulder. “I think you might be seeing him again quite soon.”

“Oh no,” Harry shook his head. “No way. Not him.”

“Come on, mate,” Ron implored. “We were supposed to meet Malfoy ten minutes ago. We don’t have time to try and steal another hair.”

“Fine,” Harry conceded. After all, what other choice did they have? “But I’m going as Slughorn. There is absolutely no way I’m going to be Mundungus for an hour.”

***

“There is absolutely no way you’re going to be Slughorn for an hour.” Malfoy held up the white hair and the orange hair with a thoughtful expression. He handed Harry the wiry ginger one. “Here, you can be the other fellow.”

“What? No.” Harry refused to take the hair. “I already called dibs on Slughorn.”

He, Ron, and Malfoy were crowded in the small men’s restroom at the back of the Three Broomsticks. Hermione gave a soft tap from the other side of the door. “Hurry up in there, the Aurors are getting suspicious.”

As soon as Harry and Ron had entered the busy pub, they immediately noticed the two Aurors sitting in the corner, keeping an eye on things. There was no doubt the two of them had noticed Harry, as well. They had watched fervently as Harry walked through the pub, past the other students, and entered the loo.

The three of them were banking on the fact that everyone would notice Harry Potter entering and leaving the bathroom, but no one would really notice that Ron had entered as well, or that Slughorn and another fellow exited.

Malfoy quickly transfigured three bars of soap into goblets and poured out three portions of the thick potion. He turned and plucked a hair from Harry’s head, none too gently. “You can’t be Slughorn, he’s way too recognizable. Lots of people know him and any one of them might approach him. I can’t imagine what you were thinking when you took his hair instead of just some random nobody.”

“We were in a bit of a hurry,” Harry defended. “Besides, I’m used to people approaching me. I can deal with it.”

Malfoy scowled at Harry as he dropped a single hair into the three different potions. “You’re used to being rude and awkward to people who approach you,” Malfoy corrected. “Slughorn is the quintessential Slytherin. He knows pureblood politics better than almost anyone. There’s no conceivable way anyone would believe you are Horace Slughorn. Not if they know the man.”

They watched as the potions slowly changed colors, picking up the characteristics of the person who provided the final ingredient. Mundungus’s looked like watery porridge. Slughorn’s looked overly sweet and syrupy. Harry’s seemed to shine as it turned a brilliant gold. “Ugh, of course,” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Even your damned Polyjuice potion is gold, bloody Chosen Boy.”  

Ron reached for the golden goblet with relief. It certainly looked a lot more appetizing than the other two options. Malfoy shoved the lumpy potion at Harry while he held the syrupy one close. “Bottom’s up, Potter.” Harry stared at Mundungus’s potion with disgust.

 “Seriously, you three,” Hermione called again from the other side of the door. “The Aurors look like they’re about to come check on you.”

Harry scowled and finally took the potion from Malfoy’s hand. “Fine, it’s just one hour, anyway.” He glanced at his watch one final time before he brought the potion to his lips. “Wait just one minute. It’ll be exactly 11:45.” The other two nodded, neither seemed particularly eager to drink their respective potions. “Remember Ron, we’ll try to be back well before 12:45, but if we’re running late, make sure you get to the bathroom before you change back. We might be able to buy a few extra minutes just in case. I’ve got my invisibility cloak with me, so we might be able to sneak back in.” The redhead nodded.

“Ok, one…two…three.” They downed the three potions at the same time.

***

A couple minutes later, the Aurors were getting quite antsy that the Boy-Who-Lived had been in the bathroom for quite some time. They slowly stood and made their way to the door at the back of the pub. A small girl with bushy brown hair was standing next to the door while holding a battered old suitcase. It was as if she were keeping guard for something. “Is Harry Potter still in there?” one of them asked her.

“Er…yes?”

It wasn’t a very reassuring response, so one of them pounded on the door. “Mr. Potter? Are you still in there? Is everything alright?”

There was no answer. The two men shared a look and then pushed the door open.

Inside were three figures staring at themselves in the mirror. One was definitely Harry Potter. He looked quite the same as he had when he first walked into the bathroom, except that now, suddenly, his Hogwarts robes seemed much too long for him.

Another figure, who they recognized as the acclaimed potions master, Horace Slughorn, was casting a spell on the robes in question. “How is it possible you two don’t know how to transfigure fabrics?” he was grumbling. He cast a spell to shorten the length of Mr. Potter’s robes, so that they fit once again.

A third figure, a bandy-legged ginger-haired man, was still examining himself in the mirror with a frown. “Excuse us if we don’t wear clothes tailored to fit like a glove,” he countered. When he caught sight of the two Aurors in the mirror, he turned to face them. “Er, can we help you?”

 The two Aurors frowned at the three men adjusting each other’s outfits in the loo. It was highly suspicious, but they couldn’t really see anything technically wrong happening. “Are you alright Mr. Potter?”

“Yeah.” It was the short, ginger-haired man who answered. “I mean, Harry, I think they asked you a question…” He turned and gave Harry Potter a meaningful look.

“Oh, right.” The dark-haired young man instantly blushed. He set the wire-rimmed glasses back on his face and blinked at the two towering figures. The Aurors wondered why the boy had taken his glasses off to begin with. “I mean, yeah, I’m ok. Everything’s fine here.”

The young woman waiting outside the loo peaked around the corner. “Harry?” she asked.

The figure who was clearly Harry Potter strode forward confidently. “Yep, that’s me,” he said. He swaggered over to the girl with his head held high. “Come on Hermione, let’s go see if I can get a free butterbeer. After all, I’m the Boy-Who-Lived.”

She sighed but followed after him. The two Aurors gave a final suspicious look toward the other two men who were watching Harry Potter with obvious annoyance. “What were you two doing?” one of the Aurors asked.

The potions master gave them an incredibly haughty expression. “We were just leaving,” he announced. And without further ado, the two of them hurried out of the restroom, across the pub, and through the fireplace floo to who-knew-where.

***

Severus Snape frowned when he saw Molly approaching along with Arthur. He had asked the head of the Weasley clan to join him for lunch, hoping to get some information out of him. However, it hadn’t occurred to the professor that the anxious man would drag his wife along. Or more likely, that she would demand to join.

Apparently, the woman didn’t want to be left home alone with her future daughter-in-law and had insisted on tagging along. Although, Molly Weasley gave Severus a look that implied that his company had only barely won out over a spoilt part-veela. 

The three of them were the only customers in the entire Leaky Cauldron. Ever since the newspapers started warning everyone that the Dark Lord and his followers were at large once again, Severus had hardly seen anyone actually sitting down in the rather exposed pub. Severus himself was probably one of very few people who didn’t fear the Death Eaters, the Ministry, or the Order of the Phoenix, but he still chose a quiet corner of pub away from any through traffic. He didn’t want to be disturbed after all.

Arthur Weasley was blushing as he sat across from the sallow-faced man. “Sorry Severus. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was you wanted to talk about. I wouldn’t have brought Molly along without an invitation, but you know how wives can be.” He paused when he caught sight of Severus’s livid expression. “Or perhaps not…”

“Don’t apologize to him, Arthur dear.” The woman was pulling out some knitting as she settled into the bench seat. “When you invite a married man out for a meal, it’s implied that his wife can join too, if she wants.”

Severus highly disagreed with that statement, but he chose not to argue over something so trivial at a time like this. “It hardly matters either way. In fact, it may be beneficial that you chose to insinuate yourself in this matter, madam. I asked you to join me today to discuss Harry Potter.”

Arthur Weasley looked startled. “Why would _you_ want to talk about _Harry_?”

Molly Weasley almost dropped her knitting. “Is Harry alright? Oh, that poor dear! He just can’t seem to catch a break. What’s the matter with him? What happened?”

Severus suppressed a sigh. Of course they would instantly jump to the conclusion that the boy was in some sort of distress. Potter did have a knack for getting into such situations. “Believe it or not, I was actually going to ask _you_ that question, madam.”

Without going too detailed with his specific concerns, Severus mentioned that he was having some worries about the suitability of Potter’s current guardians. The moment the potions master brought up the subject of Potter’s muggle relatives, the two purebloods instantly took on dour expressions. Much like Hagrid and Mrs. Figg, the Weasleys seemed to have nothing nice to say about the Dursleys. However, they were much more hesitant to outright erupt with accusations. It seemed that neither of them really wanted to complain too much about Potter’s biological family, but their opinion also seemed highly tainted by the typical pureblood belief that all muggles were harmless and silly.

Molly began almost every sentence with “Now, you know I don’t like to speak ill of people who are less fortunate than ourselves, but those people…” Arthur, meanwhile, spoke as though he was simultaneously jealous that Harry Potter had the privilege of growing up around muggles and seeing them in their ‘natural environment’ while also pitying the boy for having such unpleasant guardians.

As the conversation continued, Severus barely touched the soup he had ordered. Far more concerned with his interrogation than his actual meal. “What do you mean unpleasant? Can you be more specific?”

Arthur sighed. He, too, had barely touched his steak and kidney pie. “Well, I didn’t mean unpleasant. That wasn’t a very nice word, was it? I mean, they’re Harry’s family, after all, and I’m sure they love him a great deal deep down. It’s just, I found his uncle to be rather…disagreeable. In his defense, I had just blown up half his living room, but then, who doesn’t have a floo-size fireplace anywhere in their home? Of course, I haven’t met many other muggles. I’m not entirely sure how they usually act amongst themselves. But I did meet the Grangers - Hermione’s parents - on more than one occasion. And I must say, I found them utterly fascinating.”

Molly focused on her knitting as her husband rambled on about muggles. However, she was incapable of holding back her own opinion. “What Arthur is trying to say is that their care for Harry could certainly be better, but it’s not really their fault, obviously. You can’t really blame a couple muggles for not being able to properly care for a wizard child. And, I mean, it’s obviously quite a burden for them to care for another child in addition to their own.”

Severus couldn’t really see why it would be such a daunting obligation when Potter was gone at boarding school nine months out of the year. Besides, the Dursley’s house had seemed quite nice, so they clearly weren’t lacking for money. But then, Potter had always had a knack for trouble. Severus could barely stand to be in the same room with the boy for their Defense classes twice a week. But Severus detested the boy. It wasn’t as though Harry Potter’s family detested him. But then, Severus was beginning to suspect they might.

“You said that their care could certainly be better. In what ways are they not properly caring for the boy?”

Molly immediately set her knitting in her lap. Arthur set down his fork. They turned to look at each other and shared one of those looks that conveyed a language only spoken by long married couples. And then the dams burst and they both began speaking at once.

“…skinny as a rake. Barely any meat on his bones. Can’t even afford to feed him a decent meal…”

“…never has any of his summer homework done by the time he comes to stay. They can’t even help him with his homework…”

“…I have to owl him baked goods, and sweet breads, and meat pies every summer. If I didn’t send him care packages every week, Merlin knows how he’d get any proper nutrition…”

“…didn’t know anything about Sirius escaping Azkaban when that happened. And then he didn’t know anything about the Quidditch World Cup or the minister’s falling out with Dumbledore. Never gets any proper news out there…”

“…wasn’t expecting any presents for Christmas. Apparently, his aunt and uncle never get him anything. I mean, even if you can’t afford to buy a gift, at least send him _something_ …”

“…I know most of our boys have to wear second-hand clothes as well, but at least they fit! He looks like he’s being swallowed by some of those outfits they make him wear…”

“…he was wondering around the train station all alone. No one was with him. He had no idea how to get onto the platform. And his glasses were broken clear in half and held together with tape. Tape!”

“…it was right after Ron’s first year at Hogwarts. He didn’t respond to any of his mail. Not one letter. Apparently, someone was keeping his mail from him. Harry claimed some house elf was involved, but I think his relatives were holding his mail…”

“…Fred and George wouldn’t stop yammering about those muggles for days after they picked Harry up in the Ford Anglia. They were talking like the poor dear was some sort of prisoner. Of course, they were exaggerating quite a bit to try and get out of trouble, but it didn’t paint a very nice picture. It sounded like Harry was having a terrible summer, but I’m sure his uncle didn’t actually put bars on his window…”

Severus couldn’t help but interrupt. “Bars on his window?”

Arthur nodded. “According to the twins. But they’re not exactly a reliable source. Besides, if his uncle had ever done anything half that atrocious, I’m sure Harry would come and tell us right away.”

Severus narrowed his eyes in thought. “Perhaps.”

Suddenly, the fireplace across the pub erupted in green flames and two figures stepped out of the floo. It was Horace Slughorn and Mundungus Fletcher. The two of them barely spared a glance around the tavern they had just entered. Instead, the men marched straight for the back entrance that led to the alley. However, Severus was not about to let them get away that easily.

“Horace?” he called after his fellow professor. It seemed to have no effect. “Horace?” he tried again, even louder. The walrus of a man made no indication that he was even aware of Severus calling out his name. The two newcomers had almost made it to the back door when Severus whipped out his wand and cast a powerful shield in their path.

Horace looked completely flustered when he ran head first into a shield set directly in his path. Mundungus, however, recovered surprisingly quickly. The ginger-haired man spun around fast, with his wand instantly in his hand, as he scanned around for the source of the shield. When his eyes met Severus’s, they widened almost comically.

Severus stood from his seat, allowing his imposing height to speak for itself. “Horace, I didn’t mean to so rudely impede you. However, I called your name twice to no avail.”

Horace also didn’t seem particularly happy to see the other potions master. However, he didn’t seem quite as horrified as Mundungus, who was gaping from Severus to Arthur to Molly as though he couldn’t wrap his head around what his eyes were seeing. Despite the fact that Severus had addressed Horace directly, it was the professor’s wiry little companion who answered. “So what? Maybe he just didn’t want to talk to you, Snape. What are you doing here anyway?”

Horace elbowed him quite sharply. “Please ignore my friend here. He has absolutely no manners whatsoever. I didn’t mean to brush you off Severus. It’s always wonderful to see you, of course. However, the two of us are in a bit of a hurry, so if you’ll excuse us…”

“Yes, I imagine you would be in a hurry,” Severus interrupted. “You must be in quite a hurry to return to Hogsmeade. Since, I recall, you volunteered to act as chaperone this weekend and should be there, at the village, watching the students. Now. As we speak.”

“Yes, of course.” Horace recovered quickly. “I’ve been at Hogsmeade all morning, as you can imagine. I just had to run out and take care of the quickest of errands. So, I asked one of those handy Aurors to cover for me while I was away. So, no need to fret about that, my dear Severus. I’ll just pop along to take care of a quick matter with my friend Mr. Fletcher here, and then I’ll be back to supervising young minds before you can say ‘Half-Off Cauldrons.’” Horace gave a cheerful wink at that.

Severus scowled at the sheer audacity of the man, but it didn’t particularly surprise him. Instead, Severus focused his attention on Mundungus Fletcher. The man had been trying to give Molly Weasley a cheerful wave, and then he began pouting when she gave him a disapproving scowl.

“Mundungus, before you wander around the streets on some…errand.” The bandy-legged man turned his attention to Severus when he heard his name, and his demeanor instantly became more guarded. “I have actually been meaning to speak with you. Or at least, warn you.”

“What would you possibly want to warn me about?” The man looked even more skeptical of Severus than he usually was. He scowled at Severus like he would very much like to punch him in the face.

The professor did not particularly appreciate that look, but he still felt obligated to warn Mundungus. After all, the man was in danger because of what Severus himself had revealed. “The Dark Lord seems to be under the impression that you stole something of great value from him. Do not ask me what. I have no idea. However, you may want to lie low for the time being, as I’ve no doubt he will have agents on the move hoping to recover this item from you.”

Severus thought he was more than prepared for Mundungus’s reaction. The man was nothing if not a consummate coward, after all. Severus had been prepared for the man to panic, to cry, to beg Severus to protect or hide him. He was prepared to watch Mundungus fall into a pitiful heap on the floor or run for the hills without even a ‘good-bye.’ However, Severus was not at all prepared for what actually happened.

Mundungus Fletcher, the sniveling sneak of a man, actually rolled his eyes at the news that the Dark Lord was hunting him. And his reaction only got stranger from there. “Ugh…you’ve got to be kidding me!” If anything, Mundungus seemed annoyed by this revelation. He certainly wasn’t showing any signs of fear.

“Er, Dung?” Arthur interrupted. “I’m not sure if you heard Severus correctly. He just said that You-Know-Who was trying to find you…personally.”

“Oh, I heard him!” Mundungus huffed. “And it doesn’t surprise me at all. Of course I would steal some super secret valuable doodad from Voldemort himself. Of course I would be that stupid. I don’t know what you all expected.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Merlin, why does this always happen to me?”

Horace seemed equally horrified by Mundugus’s reaction. Or perhaps he was just aghast at hearing the Dark Lord’s name. “Er, Mr. Fletcher? Mundungus?”

The little thief startled at the name, as though he had only just remembered Horace was there. “Oh yes, of course. Er, thanks for the warning, Snape, but we really must be going. Got that errand after all.”

Without any further ado, the two of them slipped out the backdoor just as they had tried to do earlier.

Molly picked up her knitting once again. “Well, that was…odd.”

“Hmm, yes,” her husband agreed. “Do you think one of us should follow them? I mean, they seemed like they might be up to something.”

“They are obviously up to something.” Severus took another spoonful of his soup, not letting the interruption spoil his appetite. “However, it certainly doesn’t affect any of us, so I could hardly care less. After all, it’s not as though either of those two idiots are my concern or responsibility.”


	12. A Quick Trip to the Bank

As soon as Harry and Malfoy (still disguised as Mundungus Fletcher and Professor Slughorn) passed through the brick archway into Diagon Alley, they immediately breathed a collective sigh of relief. “Phew,” Harry panted in Mundungus’s wheezy voice. “That was a close one. I thought for sure Snape was going to catch us.”

“Well, certainly with your abysmal acting skills, Potter. Merlin, have you ever lied in your life?” Malfoy’s sharp tone sounded strange when combined with Slughorn’s jovial voice.

Harry brushed the dust off his transfigured robes and began the trek down the cobbled lane. “Er, I’ve actually never been great at keeping things bottled up. I have a bit of a habit of speaking before thinking, so lying’s not really my thing.”

“You don’t say?” Malfoy rolled his now watery blue eyes. Even with Slughorn’s usual guffaw, Harry could almost taste the sarcasm. “I never would have noticed!”

Just then, a tall man with yellow blonde hair waltzed up to them, all smiles. “Why Horace, dear fellow, what a coincidence? What brings you to Diagon Alley on such a chilly and unpleasant day?”

As soon as the stranger called Professor Slughorn by his first name, Harry had begun to panic. However, Malfoy seemed to beam with joy and spoke without missing a beat. “Why Lord Greengrass! I don’t see how it could be considered an unpleasant day if I’m running into you. It really is just corking to see an upstanding public figure such as yourself.”

Harry had to stifle his laughter at the word ‘corking.’ Who said that? Slughorn’s pale eyes gave him a warning look before he continued. “Mr. Fletcher and I were just on a quick errand to the bank.”

The blonde man, called Lord Greengrass, gave Slughorn’s companion a scathing look. Harry tried not to take it personally. After all, Mundungus Fletcher probably deserved a scathing look. “Oh, I see. But what is this Lord Greengrass nonsense, Horace? We are friends, of course. Please, call me Peneus.”

“Why of course, Peneus, if you insist.”

“So, Horace, I heard you came out of retirement? How are things at Hogwarts? I certainly hope you’re still able to get your hands on that elven mead you’ve always preferred? I’ll have to send you a bottle. You were always such an inspiring teacher. A man such as you doesn’t deserve to drink common firewhiskey. Both my daughters insist you’re their new favorite teacher. I certainly hope they’re performing well in your Potions class? They’re living up to the family name I presume?”

Harry tried to keep the look of disgust off his face at the man’s obvious pandering and bribery, but Malfoy could not have looked more pleased. It was hard to tell if the young man was actually that excited about the prospect of Slughorn getting free mead, or if he was just a really good actor. “Oh, yes, Peneus, you should be quite proud of those two girls. Daphne’s not exactly a natural, as you know. But the private lessons must have really helped, because she’s getting on just fine. And, of course, I’m sure you’ve noticed Astoria has quite the penchant for potions.”

“Excellent, I’ll let you get along with your errand, then. Always good to see you, old friend. And I’ll be sure to send along the finest of elf-made mead.”

As soon as the blonde man had wondered off, Harry barely had a moment to wrap his head around what had just happened when Malfoy began speaking again. “So anyway, Potter, as I was saying, you really need to work on your ability to lie convincingly. Otherwise, people will walk all over you.”

Harry hurried after Malfoy, who was surprisingly quick despite Slughorn’s girth. “Woah, hold up. How did you know that man’s daughters? For all you know they’re failing potions and he’s going to figure out you’re not the real Slughorn.”

Malfoy rolled Slughorn’s eyes again. “Daphne is most certainly not failing potions. She’s in our bloody Potions class, Potter. She partnered with Theo during the last lesson. Or do you simply not notice things that don’t directly revolve around you?”

“She’s in our class? Really? Wait, is she that blonde girl that hangs around Parkinson?”

Harry wasn’t sure he had ever seen such an annoyed look on Slughorn’s face, but before Malfoy could berate him for his lack of knowledge of their Slytherin classmates, they were interrupted yet again.

“Well if it isn’t Professor Slughorn himself!” Suddenly, a slender woman with long legs and even longer ash brown hair zeroed in on Malfoy with a single-minded focus. “I heard a rumor you were back at Hogwarts and back in the public eye. Good to see that sometimes the gossipers are right. I certainly hope this means you’re going to start up your annual Yuletide parties again. I think I got my first big break at the one my sixth year.”

“Why Cynthia, so good to see you again.” Harry once again had to hold back his shock that Malfoy was able to come up with these names. “Yes, the rumors are true for once, I’m back where I belong, and you can bet your bottom knut that this year’s Yuletide party will be one for the books. You simply must attend, dear girl.” Harry wasn’t sure if this woman could be considered a girl. Although she was rather pretty, with sleek and professional robes, she looked to be at least in her mid-thirties.

Cynthia didn’t seem to mind though, as she let Malfoy continue to gush as the real Slughorn likely would have. “I read your most recent exposé on the Goblin Liaison Office and all the commotion happening there. Looks like Mr. Creswell has his hands full with those devious little creatures. Although, to be honest, it seemed like it was your astounding writing that made his work seem more interesting than the man himself is. Hopefully, you’ll meet someone at my party worthier of your remarkable investigative skills.”

With the promise that she had secured an invite at what was, apparently, a very exclusive party, the woman bid them ‘good day’ and the two of them were once again able to hurry down the street.

“Anyways, Potter,” Malfoy continued as though they hadn’t been interrupted again. “You really need to start opening your eyes to what’s going on in the wizarding world around you. I mean, it’s one thing to be ignorant when you first got here, because you were raised by muggles. But you’ve been a part of this world for over five years now. Your ignorance is becoming rather willful.”

Another person passed by and gave a friendly wave toward the unmistakable form of Slughorn. “Hello Horace!”

“Hello Julius, how are you, old boy?” Harry didn’t even bother to be surprised at this point. Apparently, Malfoy just knew every single person in the wizarding world. Or at least, every person who would be worth catching the interest of Professor Slughorn.

After a brief greeting, Malfoy told Julius to give his best to Silvia, and wished him on his way. Again, Malfoy barely waited for the newcomer to take their leave, before he picked up his conversation with Harry as though there had been no interruption at all. “Speaking of things you don’t know, how are you doing with that book I lent you? Have you managed to clear your mind yet, or are you still having trouble learning to breathe through your nose?”

Harry scowled, but it probably looked pretty pathetic with Mundungus’s scraggly face. “You spend your time with Crabbe and Goyle and you’re calling _me_ a mouth-breather? I’m constantly amazed they manage to remember that the air goes in then out then in again.” Malfoy quirked one of Slughorn’s thick eyebrows but didn’t comment, so Harry continued. “Not that it matters how well I can breathe, when it doesn’t help me clear my mind in the least. I don’t think that book is really helping anything. No matter how much I try to relax and just breathe, I can’t seem to get my emotions to calm down.”

“Hmm,” Malfoy pondered as they turned the final corner and could see Gringotts at the end of the lane. “I suppose you did always carry your heart on your sleeve. Maybe Mind Magic just doesn’t come naturally for you. It’s alright. There are lots of forms of ancient magic: Mind Magic, Blood Magic, Soul Magic, Elemental Magic. People are usually only predisposed to one or two types, and the others can be very difficult for them. Maybe you’d do better at a different branch of ancient magic.”

So, Mind Magic _was_ a type of ancient magic! Which meant it was illegal, and Dumbledore had used the Potter vote to help make it that way. But why? Harry was about to ask Malfoy what else the boy knew about the different types of ancient magic, when they were interrupted once more.

“Horace, you old so and so! I didn’t realize you were in Diagon Alley today. Have you had lunch yet? We could grab a bite at Gold’s. You’re still a member, aren’t you?”

“Why Bertie!” Malfoy exclaimed. “You know anyone worth their salt luncheons at Gold’s.” Harry hid his exasperation at yet another interruption. However, he couldn’t hide his look of horror and confusion when Malfoy clapped the man’s hands twice, spun around, linked pinky fingers, and then pulled out his wand and tapped it to the man’s shoulder in synchronism with the other fellow. Was that some sort of secret handshake? How did Draco Malfoy know Slughorn’s secret handshakes?

As soon as the man, Bertie, was out of earshot, Harry wasted no time raising this question, not about to let Malfoy dominate the conversation again. “Ok, no, stop. What the bloody hell is going on Malfoy? How do you know all these people? How do you know their significant others, and their big exposés, and their secret handshakes? I get that your family probably knows a bunch of people, but there are limits!”

 “Seriously, Potter? You don’t know Cynthia Roscoe? She’s one of the most well-known reporters for the Daily Prophet.” Harry just shrugged at that. “She’s sort of like Rita Skeeter, but instead of doing gossip columns and human interest fluff pieces, she always focuses on political topics. She’s probably the most influential political writer they have. Some people say that the scathing article she wrote about Cornelius Fudge after the debacle at the Department of Mysteries was the final nail in the coffin for him. Plus, it paved the way for Scrimgeour to take over as the new Minister. I’m familiar with her most recent exposé because, unlike you, I actually read the newspaper.”

Harry shrugged. “Fair enough, but how about the other ones?”

“Julius Macmillan is on the Board of St. Mungo’s. It always pays to know the members of the Board in case you need to call in a favor. Besides, he’s a Macmillan. His nephew is also in our Potions class. His nephew was _your partner_ during our last class. And his wife, Sylvia, used to be in the same book club as my mother.”

“That was Ernie’s uncle?”

“Yes. This is what I meant when I said you really need to try and be less ignorant. You should know some of these people. They’ll certainly know you. As for Bertie Higgs, he’s a complete prat, actually. And that means a lot coming from me. But he’s very well connected, and he’s a member of Gold’s. It’s basically _the_ most elite Gentleman’s Club in Wizarding Britain. All the most well-connected and high-born wizards are members. All the Malfoy men have been members of the club since its founding, but now I’m practically going to have to beg for an invite after I graduate, since Father had his membership stricken.”

“Oh man, I’ve never even heard of them.” Harry wasn’t too surprised at that, though. He doubted any of the people he socialized with were the type to sit around smoking expensive cigars in a private club while chortling about their investments.

Malfoy skewed Slughorn’s lips into a look of revulsion. “Of course you’ve never heard of the most elite and exclusive private club in London. Of course you couldn’t care less about them. And I’d bet my last galleon they’d trip over themselves to have you join the second you leave Hogwarts. Bloody Chosen One. Nothing in my life fair.”

Harry could hardly bring himself to feel bad about that. It wasn’t exactly his fault that he was so annoyingly well-known. “Merlin, you should probably have been invited to join the Slug Club instead of me. I think you’d actually appreciate it.”

“You know what, Potter? I’ve been thinking the exact same thing!”

As they made their way up the great marble stairs that led to the main doors of Gringotts, another well-dressed wizard greeted Slughorn like old friends, and Malfoy immediately responded in kind. Harry still had to stifle his impatience, but this time he knew better than to ask for an explanation. Of course, he also couldn’t help but be grateful that Malfoy had come along with him on this little mission. The Slytherin had been right, Harry would have made a terrible Horace Slughorn.

***

From the shadows of a small café across the street, two curious faces looked up when they heard the boisterous shout of “Horace!” echo through the small plaza. They turned their attention toward a few figures on the steps of Gringotts Bank. When the two shadowy figures saw the friendly Professor Horace Slughorn standing with the bandy-legged and clearly irritated form of Mundungus Fletcher, their expressions changed from curiosity to mad glee. They left their teas behind half finished, without even clearing the bill.

***

By the time the two Polyjuiced students finally made it inside Gringotts, Harry cast a quick Tempus charm. The numbers 12:10 appeared in the air before him. “Oh man, we’ve already wasted 25 minutes. That’s almost half our time gone. You were right about Slughorn being a bad idea.” Harry supposed they could have hidden under his invisibility cloak, which was hidden in his pocket, but then they probably would have taken even longer. It was always difficult for two people to try walking while huddling under the one cloak. “Let’s try to get this done as fast as possible.”

Malfoy nodded in agreement and they made their way to the first free goblin they could find. The hook-nosed little creature was carefully weighing some silver nuggets when Malfoy interrupted. “You there, goblin, we need someone who can administer a Blood Inheritance Test. Go on, get going, we’re in a hurry.”

Harry was startled by Malfoy’s rudeness. Although, he wasn’t sure why. Malfoy had always been quite rude to Harry and his friends, until _very_ recently. But on the other hand, Harry had now had three etiquette lessons with Augusta Longbottom. The woman had covered introductions quite extensively, and Harry now knew that this was not at all how you were supposed to begin a business transaction. He wondered why Malfoy didn’t know that.

The goblin also seemed all too aware of how unnecessarily pushy Malfoy’s behavior was, as the creature seemed in absolutely no hurry to obey any demands. The little thing simply narrowed its beady black eyes and curled back its lips in displeasure. Harry could see yellow teeth. They looked very sharp.

Without much other choice, Harry thought back to his lessons with Augusta. How were you supposed to greet new business associates? Harry stepped forward. “Excuse me, sir. Please forgive my colleague, he doesn’t have much in the way of manners. My name is Harry Potter. You’ll have to excuse my appearance, you see, I took Polyjuice potion in order to get here without much ado. I hope the Inheritance Test thing will still work. However, I would greatly appreciate your assistance in this matter. It will be a pleasure to work with you.” Harry held out his hand for the goblin to shake, just as Madam Longbottom had instructed him.

However, the goblin looked even more wary of Harry’s introduction than it had of Malfoy’s. Behind him, Harry could hear Malfoy muttering. “Seriously, Potter? You wouldn’t shake _my_ hand, but you’ll greet a money-grubbing goblin like it’s the bloody Minister of Magic.”

The goblin’s eyes seemed to shift between Harry and Malfoy, but it still didn’t move. Harry was becoming even more awkward. “To be honest, I only learned a couple different introductions so far. That was the one for business associates. If there’s a special introduction for goblins, then I don’t know that one yet. I’m sorry.”

Harry shifted from foot to foot as the goblin seemed to study him carefully. Finally, the creature spoke. “Very well. Whoever you are, you clearly know nothing of the ways of wizards or goblins. However, we will see if you are who you say you are. A Blood Inheritance Test will show. Follow me.”

Harry and Malfoy both followed the shifty little creature behind the counter as it made its way toward an imposing door. Before the goblin reached for the handle, however, it halted and turned to the two of them. “Not you,” it sneered toward the rotund form that Malfoy was currently exhibiting. “You wait there.” It pointed a long finger toward the front lobby where there were several lounge chairs, clearly laid out for the purpose. The face of Slughorn scowled back at the creature, clearly not pleased to take orders from a goblin. “Go on, get going.” The goblin’s pointy-toothed smile looked almost evil. “Aren’t you in a hurry?”

Without much other choice, Malfoy slunk away, and Harry followed the devious little banker into a well decorated corridor. As they walked down the winding hallway, passing several unmarked doors, Harry decided to try and fix whatever social faux-pas he had made before. “So, er, I’m not really sure what I did wrong back there. I certainly didn’t mean to offend you or anything. How did you figure out that I didn’t know anything about wizards or goblins?”

The goblin hardly spared him a glance, and it spoke as if it barely had the patience to deal with such a simpleton. “Wizards and goblins have different customs; different etiquette. Wizards do not waste their niceties on goblins, and we are happy to return the favor. I thought you were mocking me with your polite words. But you are not impudent. No, you are simply alarmingly ignorant.”

“Oh,” Harry couldn’t really argue that. “Yeah, that’s becoming increasingly obvious. So, how do goblins greet each other? What is the proper etiquette?”

The goblin paused and gave Harry another skeptical look before he responded. “Grog’nar gringkaff devkenn. Grog’nar progkaff ettboll’nar.”

Harry blanched. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It is Gobbledegook. It translates to: ‘May your gold flow. May your enemies cower before you.’ It is a traditional goblin greeting.”

Harry remembered Hagrid telling him to never mess with goblins, and Harry was beginning to think the man had a point. “Ok, let’s see. Groggner gring-calf devkan. Groggner preg-calf ettbollner.”

The goblin’s smirk immediately wiped from its pointy face, and it gave Harry a long and hard stare. Harry panicked that he may have accidentally said something highly offensive, until suddenly the creature’s mouth opened, and it let out a vicious laugh that was all teeth.

The goblin’s entire body shook with laughter. Harry waited while the small thing tried to catch its breath, although it took a moment. It kept looking back at Harry and bursting into laughter again.

Harry sighed. “I’m sorry. I obviously don’t speak Gobbledegook. Did I say something funny? What did I say?”

The goblin finally settled down slightly. “Your words were…technically correct. Barely. They are understandable as the proper greeting. But you speak with no growl. No proper goblin snarl. You sound like an infant child, still in a gobliness’s arms, just learning to speak his first words. Helpless and weak. To hear an adult wizard speak like a helpless and pathetic goblin child, brings such joy you cannot understand!”

Harry frowned. That certainly wasn’t the impression he was trying to make, but on the other hand, the goblin now seemed very happy to work with him. He was quickly led to a small room with nothing but a long table surrounded by some chairs. “You wait here. Bogrod will come to administer the test. It will cost 15 galleons. You will pay us whether you are Harry Potter or not.”

“Er, ok.” As the goblin began to shut the door behind him, Harry called out. “Wait, I didn’t catch your name?”

The goblin smirked at him. “My name is Nagnok. I would very much enjoy hearing you say Nagnok.”

Harry frowned but complied. “Nagnok?”

The goblin burst into laughter again. “I do hope you are Harry Potter. I would like to tell the others that the wizard’s Chosen One sounds like a mewling babe that has barely grown his fangs in.” With that, Harry was left alone.

He quickly cast a tempus charm again. 12:17. They’d used up over half their time, and Harry had no idea how long this stupid test was going to take. Apparently, it was a blood test. Would they take a sample of his blood and test it with some potions or spells? Was the goblin going to come in with a big syringe? How much blood did they need? How long would it take them to test it?

Before he could work himself into a panic over the time, the door opened again, and a suavely dressed goblin entered with a piece of parchment and a small knife. Harry hardly found that comforting.

The goblin, whom Harry assumed was Bogrod gave him a devious smirk. “I heard that you learned a new greeting. Where are your manners?”

Harry sighed and tried to remember the phrase from earlier. He really didn’t want to waste time with this, but also didn’t want to annoy the goblins who could probably take as long as they pleased administering the test. Once again, Harry stumbled over the words, and once again the goblin watching him broke into uncontrollable laughter.

“Very good, human. Very amusing indeed. Now, let us see if you are who you claim to be.” The goblin set the sheet of parchment on the table and handed Harry the knife. The young man hesitated for only a moment before taking it. “Do not worry, weak little human, not much blood is needed. Merely three drops of blood will suffice. Let them fall onto the parchment.”

Harry frowned. “That’s it? You don’t need a vial or anything? No spells or potions or whatever?”

The creature scowled. “Goblins do not use spells like wizards. We are not permitted wands. Goblins use old magic, Blood Magic. The parchment is enchanted with such magic. Your blood will activate it. Three drops.”

Harry gave the knife a suspicious look. Dumbledore had made it seem like Blood Magic was really bad. Not to mention, this whole thing felt eerily similar to the blood ritual Pettigrew had used to resurrect Voldemort, which had also required some drops of his blood. However, Dumbledore had also been the one to recommend Harry take this test. Malfoy had talked like this was a fairly common thing for teenagers to do. Maybe it was different when goblins used Blood Magic as opposed to wizards using it? Maybe it wasn’t always bad?

Harry placed his pointer finger on the sharp tip of the knife and let it prick him. He held it over the paper and allowed three drops to fall. The moment the final drop hit the parchment, words began to form across the sheet, as red and Harry’s blood.

*******

**Harry James Potter**

**~ Father ~**

James Potter, Son of Charlus Potter and Doreah Potter nee Black

**~ Mother ~**

Lily Potter nee Evans, Daughter of Franklin Evans and Rose Evans nee Bailey

**~ Date of Birth ~**

July 31, 1980

**~ Lordships and Heirships ~**

Lord of the Daring and Noble House of Potter  
(Not eligible to inherit until Seventeenth Birthday)  
[Proxy: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore]

Lord of the Pure and Noble House of Black  
(Not eligible to inherit until Seventeenth Birthday)

Lord of the Valorous and Noble House of Gryffindor  
(Eligible as of Twelfth Birthday, per ancient family Rites)

Heir of the Wise and Noble House of Peverell  
(First in Line, Eligible for Lordship only with the passing of the current Lord)

Heir of the Diligent and Noble House of Longbottom  
(Eighth in Line, Eligible for Lordship only with the passing of the current Lord and ranking Heirs)

***Other possible Heirships are too distant to appear on this list.

**~ Gringotts Vaults and Inheritances ~**

Vault 687: Trust Vault for Harry Potter established by James Potter  
(Eligible to access as of Eleventh Birthday)

Vault 462: Potter Family Vault  
(Not Eligible to access until Seventeenth Birthday)

Vault 397: Black Family Vault  
(Not Eligible to access until Seventeenth Birthday)

Vault 31: Gryffindor Family Vault  
(Eligible to access as of Twelfth Birthday)

***

Harry set down the parchment. A lot of it had simply been a reiteration of things he had known or suspected, yet one piece of information definitely stood out. “Gryffindor? I’m related to _the_ Gryffindor?”

Bogrod took the parchment and glanced it over. “Distantly. I believe the Gryffindor Lordship was previously held by the Urquart family, but the last member of their line passed in 1985, so it must have passed on to the Potter line at that point. Some of the older families that pre-date wizard law allow their heirs to inherit at an earlier age of majority.”

Harry looked the parchment again, reading off the vaults. The Urquart name sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe they were in that book Malfoy had lent him. He’d have to check it over again. “So, the Urquarts were cousins of the Potters or something, and now that they’re all gone, I’m the only Gryffindor left?”

“You’re the only Potter left. If you pass, those lordships will pass on to another line…if there are any who qualify. Sometimes lines die out, and there is no one left to inherit a Lordship. This test will not give you those answers.”

“Why didn’t I ever get a notification that I inherited the Gryffindor Lordship? Why wasn’t I ever told that I could access a new vault?”

The little goblin narrowed its eyes. “We keep treasure for wizard families. Treasure that is usually created by goblins. It is _your_ responsibility to keep track of your own possessions, your own Lordships, your own properties. It is not the responsibility of goblins to inform you of all your treasures and which ones you have access to. We only keep them safe. If you didn’t know you were a Gryffindor, that is your fault.”

“Right, ok.” Yeah, Hagrid was right. Do not mess with goblins. “So, I take it you can’t tell me what is actually in those vaults?”

“You may visit the vaults that you have access to. Most ancient wizard vaults have gold, books, magical artifacts, spell scrolls, and the titles to properties. You will have to visit your own vaults in person to see what is in yours.”

Harry sighed. He was incredibly curious about what could be in the Gryffindor family vault, but he definitely didn’t have time to actually go visit it right now. “I really need to get back. I’ll have to return some other time to actually visit the vaults. Er, can you take the 15 galleons out of my trust vault?” Harry had some money in his pouch, but he was hoping to use that later for Christmas shopping.

The goblin agreed, and Harry was about to leave when he was stopped once more. “Mr. Harry Potter, you speak and act so much like an ignorant young child. You have amused Nagnok and I greatly. We will tell the other Gringotts goblins about this wonderful revelation. To thank you for this joy, let me offer you a piece of advice. Someone as infantile and oblivious as you will probably need it.”

Harry tried not to look too offended by the goblin’s words. He probably _could_ use all the advice he could get. “Er…ok?”

“The Gryffindor Lordship carries a heavy weight; a great amount of power. Old power, power others would be only too happy to get their hands on. I do not believe that Urquarts ever let it be known that they carried the Lordship. It is not common knowledge who the Heir of Gryffindor is. Until you plan to use that power, or until you know _how_ to use that power, it would serve you well to keep that power to yourself. Until you learn how to use your power, others will learn to use you.”

“Oh. I see. Well, thank you.”

The goblin’s grin turned up a notch. “In Gobbledegook, the word for ‘thank you’ is Bel’jokk.”

Harry let out a sigh, but gave the creature what it clearly wanted. “Bel-jalk.”

The goblin’s laughter could be heard down the hall.

***

Harry’s time limit was quickly approaching, so he marched back toward Malfoy as briskly as he could without drawing too much attention.

The figure of Slughorn instantly stood when he saw the figure of Mundungus practically jogging his way. “How did it go? Did you take the test? What were your results?”

Harry grabbed Malfoy’s shoulder without pausing to catch his breath. “Later,” he muttered as inconspicuously as possible. “We don’t have time to chat now. We’ll talk when the potion wears off.”

Harry was so focused on steering Malfoy toward the exit, he didn’t realize they were being targeted until a wand found itself digging into his back. Harry froze and the figure behind him leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Any sudden movements, and we’ll kill you where you stand.” The voice was wheezy, and Harry had to hold his breath to prevent from choking on their fowl-smelling breath. “You’re coming with us, Mundungus Fletcher. Our master has some questions for you.”

Mundungus? They thought he was Mundungus? Oh no, maybe Harry should have listened when Snape had warned him that Voldemort was looking for the thief. He really had picked the worst two possible people to try and sneak around Diagon Alley unnoticed.

Harry turned his head just a fraction, so as not to upset whoever had their wand subtlety jabbing into his back. Malfoy, still disguised as Slughorn, stood frozen to the spot with a dark-haired, stocky witch directly behind him. She must have also had a wand to his back. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “We remember you, Professor Slughorn. You just keep your mouth shut and don’t get involved in this, and we’ll leave you right as rain.”

Harry was sure he recognized her from some old Wanted posters; the Death Eater Alecto Carrow. Which meant her brother, Amycus Carrow, was likely the wizard who held Harry at wand point.

Harry tried to catch the eye of some of the goblin guards around the perimeter while the Death Eater began nudging him forward. The security didn’t seem remotely concerned about him. Harry guessed that even if the goblins figured out what was happening, their concern was guarding the gold, not necessarily the customers. Certainly not Mundungus Fletcher, who was fairly well-known as an unscrupulous character.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to decide on a plan of action. If he attacked the Carrows, they could easily kill or hurt Malfoy, or even some of the other patrons of the bank. On the other hand, he absolutely could not possibly allow them to take him to ‘their master.’ That was certain death. The Polyjuice potion was going to wear off in about fifteen minutes and he was pretty sure Voldemort’s questions would take longer than that. Besides, if Voldemort thought Mundungus was stealing from him, it was unlikely the ‘questions’ would end amicably even if Harry didn’t turn back into himself.

On the other hand, if Harry could lure the Carrows out of the bank and into the street, he would have more room to duel them, and he wouldn’t have to worry about so many customers that could be hurt in the crossfire. However, the Death Eater behind him was clearly pushing him toward a hall full of large fireplaces where he would almost certainly be floo’ed to his death.

What could he do? If only being the Heir of Gryffindor came with cool powers. At least the Heir of Slytherin got Parseltongue. Why couldn’t Gryffindors get anything like that? Suddenly, Harry got an idea. He quickly glanced around Gringotts looking for anything snake-like. Some of the large columns had floral designs going up the sides, with vines wrapping around. That would have to do.

Harry ignored the leaves and focused all his attention on the vines themselves, trying to picture them as snakes creeping up the sides of the columns. It took a moment to really wrap his head around the idea that the vines were snakes. They were snakes slithering along the column. The whole while, he and Malfoy tried to walk as slowly as possible toward the end of the lobby, without aggravating the Carrows too much.

Finally, Harry felt he was as immersed in the illusion of the snakes as he was ever going to be, and he let out the word “wait” just to test what happened. The reaction was immediate. The two Carrows and Malfoy himself all froze and stared at him in disbelief. “I think there’s been a terrible misunderstanding; I’m not who you think I am.”

To his great relief, Harry felt the prodding in his back immediately disappear right before he heard a wand clang to the marble floor. Amycus must have dropped his wand in shock. Before Alecto could react, Harry pulled his own wand from his pocket and called out “Accio wand!”

Before Harry could cast another spell, Alecto shoved Malfoy’s large, Polyjuiced form out the way and aimed a curse right at Harry. Fortunately, even in Mundungus’s body, Harry’s reflexes were just as quick as ever. “Protego!”

Harry didn’t recognize the dark purple hex that came from the witch’s wand, but when it rebounded off the shield back toward Alecto, she was knocked clear across the room with an ear-piercing screech. That seemed to have caught the attention of the goblins, who were suddenly running his way and shouting threats in Gobbledegook. Amycus pulled on Harry’s left hand, trying to wrench his wand from Harry’s grasp. Before he could dislodge it, Harry swung his other arm around and punched Amycus square in the nose.

The entire lobby broke into chaos. Not wanting to stick around another moment, Harry threw the extra wand as far as he could and used his empty hand to drag Malfoy’s shocked form toward the exit. He pulled the heavy man through the door before the goblins could try to detain them further. Sure, Harry and Malfoy might be able to explain their actions, but not before the potion wore off. Harry didn’t want to imagine how many detentions McGonagall would give him if she found out what he had gotten up to during his Hogsmeade trip.

After only a few seconds of sprinting, Harry saw sunlight, and felt the chilly October air fill his lungs. They had made it outside, but they still had to get back to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry practically flew down the stairs and into the street with Malfoy at his heels.

“Crucio!” Harry ducked as an automatic response and looked back to see where the red light came from. Alecto must have found her bearings. She was standing on the marble steps of the bank and was aiming curses right at Harry.

Harry looked around for Malfoy, who was no longer beside him. Slughorn’s rotund form was hiding behind a small cart of ‘protective amulets.’ Perhaps those things actually could be used for protection after all. “Malfoy, we have to go! Come on!” Several shopkeepers were peeking out the doors, and Harry was sure it wouldn’t be long before the Aurors came by to arrest whoever was causing this ruckus.

Malfoy was shaking his head. “Potter, I can apparate!”

“What?” Harry didn’t understand what that had to do with anything.

“Just give me your hand you nitwit! You’ll die if you stay here.” Malfoy was still ducking behind the cart, but his hand was held out for Harry to take.

Curses were flying past his head so closely that his hair got singed, and Harry didn’t have to think. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t second guess anything. He simply jumped forward and grabbed Malfoy’s hand. As soon as they made contact, Harry felt the familiar squeeze of side-along apparition that he had only felt once before with Dumbledore. The next dark curse hit squarely where Harry Potter no longer was.

***

Harry felt like he might be sick the moment his feet hit the ground. This was only his second time apparating, and he had to take several deep breaths to try and settle his stomach, so it didn’t spill its contents. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to embarrass himself by retching everywhere, Harry looked around and took in his surroundings.

Green.

He was surrounded by green draperies, green beds, even the windows seemed to shine with an ethereal greenish glow. “What the… Where are we?”

“My dorm room,” Malfoy explained.

Harry took in the details more carefully. The room did look quite a bit like his own dorm room. There were five four-poster beds with school trunks at each end. The main difference was that instead of red linens and curtains, they were all Slytherin green. Instead of a bright view of the school grounds from the tower, the windows showed the underwater world of the Black Lake.

“How did we apparate into Hogwarts? How is that possible? Isn’t that impossible?”

Malfoy held up his wrist to show a dainty silver bracelet. “Not with this. I bought it at Borgin and Burkes over the summer. It allows you to apparate into any place you consider your home. I consider this dorm room to be like a home. I was able to apparate you with me because you’re also allowed into Hogwarts as a student.”

The mysterious item Malfoy bought over the summer! Harry had been so suspicious about what Malfoy might do with it. It looked so harmless now. “Well, I suppose it’s better than apparating into Malfoy Manor,” Harry reasoned.

The face of Slughorn seemed to pale at those words. “Yes, I suppose. I could have apparated there, of course. I just… I wasn’t really thinking about it. They were shooting curses and I could only think about getting us to safety as soon as possible.”

“Speaking of ‘as soon as possible…’” Harry cast another Tempus charm. The time read 12:34. “Oh man, we have eleven minutes. There’s no way we can walk down to the pub in eleven minutes. Can you apparate us?”

Malfoy shook Slughorn’s head. “Not from Hogwarts grounds. The bracelet lets me circumvent the wards to allow me to apparate _to_ someplace I consider home, but not _from_. The only place I can disapparate to, from Hogwarts, would be Malfoy Manor. But we can’t go there. We have…guests visiting.”

Harry was pacing now. “But even if we run, we can’t make it to the Three Broomsticks in eleven minutes. Oh bloody hell, we were so close!”

“Perhaps if we can get to the edge of Hogwarts’ wards, I can apparate us the rest of the way.”

Harry shook his head. It still wouldn’t be enough. Even if they ran through the school under his invisibility cloak, it would take too long.

Malfoy was looking around his room, trying to think of something. “I’m sorry Potter. I should have just apparated us straight to Hogsmeade. I wasn’t thinking. I just panicked.”

“It’s ok. I just don’t know how we’ll get back fast enough.” Harry was reminded of the time he and Ron had missed the Hogwarts Express and were panicking trying to think of a way they could still get to the school. Of course, at the time they had access to a flying car. Harry and Draco couldn’t exactly fly Mr. Weasley’s Ford Anglia.

Harry snapped Mundungus’s head back toward the other boy. “Malfoy, where do you keep your broom?”

“My broom? It’s under the bed, but I don’t see…” Slughorn’s watery eyes went wide. “Ok, but I’m steering.”

***

It was quite fortunate that Harry had thought to bring his invisibility cloak. He couldn’t imagine what the students would think if they saw Professor Slughorn flying awkwardly down the halls of Hogwarts with a wiry ginger-haired man clutching on behind him.

The Nimbus 2001 really was a smooth ride, even more maneuverable than Harry’s first broom, the 2000 model. Of course, neither broom could hold a candle to Harry’s Firebolt, but now didn’t seem like a good time to point that out. It was uncomfortable enough with Malfoy trying to balance and steer a broom with Slughorn’s much larger body, and Harry trying desperately to hold the cloak over both of them as they flew down halls and up stairs at the fastest speed that was still relatively safe.

Harry didn’t bother trying to cast a Tempus charm as they flew. He doubted he’d be able to reach his wand from this angle anyway. Besides, they were going as fast as they possibly could. They’d either make it or they wouldn’t.

When they made it to the Entrance Hall, the doors were thankfully still open. Filch was standing guard, prodding some poor third year students and looking through their Honeydukes bags, sure he would find contraband. Harry and Malfoy could not have been more relieved to fly smoothly over his head, through the enormous threshold.

Once they were in open air, they increased to full speed. The air stung, and Harry’s lungs burned, but they couldn’t slow down now. As soon as they passed the main gates marking the end of the school grounds, Malfoy didn’t even bother to dismount the broom before grabbing Harry’s wrist. Harry felt the now familiar squeeze and everything went black.

***

When Horace Slughorn and Mundungus Fletcher stormed into the Three Broomsticks at 12:43 in the afternoon, they were half-frozen, mostly disheveled, and fully out of breath. However, none of the patrons seemed to be paying Harry or Malfoy much attention. Most of customers appeared to be watching some sort of performance toward the front of the bar.

Harry ignored this and darted for a corner where he saw Hermione and Ginny whispering to each other while finishing off their butterbeers. “Hermione?” Harry called in relief. However, he didn’t see Ron with her. Maybe the boy had already run off to the restroom?

Hermione eyed him nervously. “Mr. Fletcher?”

“No, it’s me.” Harry didn’t want to say too much more with Ginny sitting right there as well. He didn’t mind if she knew what they were up to, but there wasn’t really time to explain right now.

Hermione quickly put his concerns to rest. “Oh Harry, thank Merlin it’s you! I was getting so nervous. Don’t worry, I already told Ginny everything. I felt it was only fair that she didn’t hex you over something Ron did.”

Harry didn’t like the sound of that. “Why? What did Ron do?”

Hermione pointed to the bar at the front where all the customers were watching something avidly. “See for yourself.”

Harry passed Malfoy on his way across the pub. The Slytherin was nervously looking down at a pocket watch. “Where’s your little friend? This stuff is going to wear off any minute.”

“I have a bad feeling he’s in the middle of that mess.”

It took a bit of shoving to get past the other patrons, but by the time they made it to the center of the crowd, Harry could see what had caught everyone’s attention. The center of the group was mostly made up of girls. Harry could see Romilda Vane and her little clique of fourth year Gryffindors. Lavender Brown and the Patil twins were there as well, along with some of the Hufflepuff girls from the DA, and several others. Although it wasn’t just girls; Harry noticed Colin and Dennis Creevey, as well.

In the center of it all was Harry Potter. Or, more accurately, Ron Weasley who looked exactly like Harry Potter. One hand held up a half-finished butterbeer, while the other was gesticulating wildly. “So, then I held up the sword, and I charged right at the basilisk…”

Harry didn’t need to hear much else. Not that he had the time, since Ron’s eyes looked like they were already starting to turn blue. Harry latched onto his arm. “Fascinating story, Mr. Potter. If I could just see you in the loo for a moment…”

Some of the audience seemed quite put off that they were losing their form of entertainment, especially since he had just got to the good part. However, Ron quickly quelled their frustrations. “Don’t worry, folks, I’ll be right back to tell you about when I visited the mermaid kingdom. I believe you still owe me a few rounds of drinks.”

By the time all three of them disappeared into the men’s room, Malfoy had already lost his walrus moustache and Harry’s poor eyesight was making coordination difficult. “Bloody hell, that was close! Ron, what were you thinking? We told you to run to the loo if time was almost up.”

“Sorry mate,” Ron’s freckles quickly returned along with a blush of embarrassment. “But get this, you can eat and drink for free for the rest of the day! A bunch of people were asking me about that Chosen One business, and don’t worry I didn’t say a word, but then I told them I had some other stories. I told them about Quirrell and the stone, and then the Hungarian Horntail during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and I was just telling them about the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. They were eating it up, mate. They bloody love you!” Ron gave Harry a punch in the arm for enthusiasm. “So, you can have all the shephard’s pie you can eat and all the butterbeer you can drink on me! No need to thank me.”

“Thank you?” Harry gaped.

Malfoy quirked a brow at that and started transfiguring all their robes back to normal. “Actually Potter, that’s not a bad deal. You should try that more often.”

“See Ron?” Harry was completely flustered with anger and confusion. He snatched his glasses back from his best friend none too gently. “Malfoy thinks it’s a good idea, so you know you did something wrong.”

“Excuse me?” Malfoy sneered.

Ron paled instantly. “What? Oh mate, I’m sorry. Everyone was just so excited, and they all wanted to talk to me, and hear what I had to say. And I figured you’d be happy to get the free drinks and stuff.” Ron put his hands in his pockets and scuffed his shoes on the floor, thoroughly abashed. “So, how was the bank? Did it go alright?”

“I mean, it certainly could have gone better.” Harry wasn’t sure how to explain quite everything that had happened. But he knew one thing for sure. He would wait to tell anyone about the Gryffindor thing until he understood what exactly it entailed. “But then, it could have gone a lot worse…”

Malfoy snorted at that, quite out of character for him. “Could have gone worse? I’m shocked that the two of us aren’t being tortured to death as we speak. Merlin Potter, it’s as though your blood was replaced with Felix Felicis when you were a child. Are you always this unreasonably lucky?”

Harry nodded. “Oh yeah, this was just a typical day in the life of Harry Potter. You wanted to tag along. Now you know what I have to deal with.”

***

That evening, after Harry had relayed the story of his little adventure to Ron and Hermione and had hidden away the suitcase full of Mundungus’s stolen goods, Harry sat up in bed trying to calm his mind. He was hoping Malfoy’s breathing exercises would help lull him to sleep the way they did for Ron. However, it was almost impossible with so many conflicting thoughts running through his head. Maybe Malfoy was right; maybe he had no natural talent for Mind Magic. But then, was he predisposed to another type of ancient magic? What if it was Blood Magic? Or Soul Magic?

Dumbledore had made it seem like those things were really bad. But then, the goblins obviously used Blood Magic and it didn’t seem like it was a very big deal at all. Maybe Harry just didn’t understand? Well, that was certainly true. Apparently, there were a lot of things Harry didn’t understand. Lots of people he didn’t know, but should have. Lots of ideas he’d never heard of, but ought to have. And it was his fault, because he had never taken the time to learn. He had never really cared before.

Hermione was so book smart; she knew the theory behind almost everything. Malfoy knew all about this political stuff and the right etiquette for everything. Even Ron had such a way with people and an easy sense of humor. He’d been Harry for one hour and he charmed a whole crowd in a way Harry never could. Of course, Harry always felt awkward with that amount of attention.

Maybe it was time Harry tried to get over that? After all, he was going to have attention on him whether he liked it or not. Harry had power whether he wanted it or not. People certainly knew who he was, whether he knew them or not. Perhaps it was time he took up the mantle that had been dropped in his lap. He always wanted to help people, after all. It was probably time he started taking this political stuff more seriously.

***

_When Harry opened his eyes in Grimmauld Place, he had to bite back a sob. The last time the young Gryffindor had been here, it had been Christmas with the Weasleys and Sirius. His godfather had been alive and happy. Well, maybe not happy, but alive at any rate._

_“Where is it? It must be here somewhere…”_

_Harry could hear a distant voice coming through the crack under his door. Harry knew that voice, and it definitely wasn’t Sirius’s. The young man left his usual bedroom that he shared with Ron, and he wandered down the stairs toward the highly annoyed mutterings of Tom Riddle. The young dark lord was scouring the study, pulling out drawers, sifting through paperwork, opening any cabinet or container he could get his hands on._

_Harry watched him for a moment before he finally decided to comment. “What are you doing? Are you looking for something?”_

_Riddle, who had been completely focused on the task at hand, shot his head toward Harry with an expression that almost looked like panic. “Potter?” It took only a moment for him to school his features back into a calm mask, but Harry did not forget what he had seen. “Of course. I should have realized this was your dream, Harry. Your memory. I was merely investigating my surroundings. It’s not every day I have such unfettered access to the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.”_

_Harry narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t sure how much he believed Riddle’s excuse. “You’re not going to find anything useful. It’s my memory, and I don’t know anything about the Order, so you’re not going to be able to figure out anything from me.”_

_“I’ll be the judge of that.” Riddle shoved past Harry out the door and made his way to the library._

_Harry hesitated for a moment, before accepting that he didn’t really have anywhere else to go. So, he followed after the other young man. It felt odd to be ignored by Riddle. Especially after the last couple dreams, where he had felt such singular focus from those snake-like eyes. “What’s got you in an even more unpleasant mood than usual?”_

_Riddle was rifling through the ancient bookshelves, tossing the books aside. None of the covers showed any titles. Harry couldn’t think of a single book that was kept in the old library, so that probably translated to blank books in the dream. Riddle shoved several scrolls out of his way, as if they had personally offended him. “I’m completely surrounded by incompetents.”_

_“Hey!”_

_Riddle didn’t even spare him a glance. “Not you.”_

_“I’m the only one here.” Harry pointed out._

_Voldemort’s childhood memory, or whatever it is that Riddle was, seemed to have given up on the library. He began marching up the stairs toward the upper floors with the bedrooms and his first stop was the room Hermione usually shared with Ginny. Harry followed along, now a bit curious to see if Riddle would actually find anything. However, Riddle seemed thoroughly indignant when the drawers revealed to be full of lady’s blouses, instead of Dumbledore’s most important secret documents, or whatever else he was hoping to find._

_“I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to such an inane waste of time. I have to do everything myself! Apparently not a single person who works for me can take care of even the simplest of tasks.”_

_Riddle finally gave up on the girls’ room and moved on to the bedroom that Harry thought of as his own. Harry wasn’t really sure how he felt about Riddle looking through his own drawers, but decided to keep his mouth shut, otherwise he was sure Riddle would give this room his special attention._

_“So, who exactly worked for you at this age? Were your school friends anything like Voldemort’s Death Eaters?”_

_Riddle scowled, but it was hard to decide if he was scowling at Harry’s comment, or the obnoxiously red Weasley sweater in his hands. “I never had friends. I had followers.”_

_“I’ll take that as a yes.”_

_Riddle, once again, grew tired of riffling through nothing but old clothes, and made his way up to the next landing. Harry followed at a much more sedate pace. “You know, I think I know why all your followers are so bloody useless.”_

_“They’re useless because everyone is useless. People are all so sentimental and undisciplined and spineless and moronic. No one can be counted on.” Riddle made his way to the master bedroom. As soon as he opened the door, he paused at the threshold. The room contained several small piles of hippogriff feathers, the bedsheets were completely torn up, and the wallpaper was slashed with claw marks. The Slytherin gave Harry a disapproving look, as if this was somehow his fault. It wasn’t Harry’s idea to keep Buckbeak in Sirius’s mum’s old room. That was all his godfather._

_Riddle simply shut the door and moved on to the next bedroom without bothering with that one. “I think this demonstrates my argument quite well. Other people are merely a disappointment. They should be grateful I don’t simply wipe them all out.”_

_“Well, that’s one theory.” Harry followed Riddle into the bedroom that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley usually shared. “I suppose it could be that all people are just terrible and useless and incompetent. I have another idea though.”_

_“Of course you do.” Riddle shoved Mrs. Weasley’s knitting supplies out of his way and then opened a drawer that was completely full of rubber ducks. Riddle’s face, which was usually quite blank, looked like it couldn’t make up its mind whether to be angry, disgusted, or confused. He shot Harry another glare, as if the rubber ducks were also his fault. Of course, they might have been. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what Mr. Weasley kept in his drawers, but he could easily believe they were full of rubber ducks, so the dream had probably complied._

_“Hey, don’t give me that look. You’re the one who wanted to discover Order secrets. There you go, now you know!” Riddle shoved the drawer shut with much more force than necessary and moved on to the wardrobe. “Anyway, as I was saying, I think I know why all your followers are so bloody useless. Maybe it’s because every time anyone disagrees with you, you Crucio them until their ears bleed. Maybe, just maybe, that doesn’t exactly inspire creative thought. Maybe, and I know I’m going out on a limb here, but just maybe your methods make people servile and thoughtless.”_

_Riddle slammed the wardrobe shut and marched onto the landing. “People are already servile and thoughtless. My behavior is hardly going to change that.” He headed up the last set of stairs, toward the top landing where Harry knew Sirius’s room was. “I Crucio my followers so they understand how disappointed I am in their uselessness. I no longer have the patience to deal the idiocy of the average witch or wizard.”_

_Harry ran after the petulant young dark lord, hoping to block him from entering his godfather’s room, if that was even possible. “No longer have patience? Did you ever have patience?”_

_Riddle was reading the sign on Sirius’s door when Harry ran forward and tried to block the other’s path. It was one thing to watch the boy riffle through the Weasley’s belongings, but he wouldn’t sit idly by and let Sirius’s memory be violated in such a way._

_The much taller young man simply narrowed his blood red eyes at Harry, who was so defiantly blocking his path. “I am exercising patience right now.” He clenched his fists but didn’t make any move to touch Harry. “I seem to have far more reserves of leniency in these dreams than I have felt in some time.” His head tilted carefully to the side, and he let out a longsuffering sigh. “I used to be exceedingly restrained and stoic. I long ago lost those qualities. I long ago lost…many things…” Riddle was looking around the landing. As his eyes swiveled to the door across the hall, his voice seemed to trail off._

_Riddle’s entire body turned and began stalking toward the bedroom across from Sirius’s. Harry was pretty sure it once belonged to Sirius’s brother, but he couldn’t read the sign on the door with Riddle in the way. The taller young man paused with his hand on the door handle. “But it hardly matters what I lost in the pursuit of my goals, since I will shortly be getting everything back.” He turned to stare right into Harry’s eyes. “Soon I will have everything that belongs to me.”_

_As Riddle pulled at the handle of the door, Harry felt himself slipping awake. After all, Harry had never been in that room. He had no memory of what was inside. There was nothing left to dream._

***

Lord Voldemort awoke with a start. He had been so close to discovering his precious locket, he was sure of it. Yet it had once again slipped through his grasp.

The Dark Lord was now in an even fouler mood than he had been when he closed his eyes. Someone was going to pay.

 


	13. Forbidden Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post. Life started happening all at once, as it is so prone to do. I have an extremely thorough outline, though, and I can't wait to get to the end. So don't worry about this story not reaching it's goal. It just might take a while to get there.

After Harry’s startling dream, it took some time to fall back asleep. By the time Harry awoke the next morning, his dorm room was empty, and he realized Sunday breakfast was already half finished.

The Great Hall was full of excited chatter when Harry burst in wearing some ill-fitting jeans and a frayed jumper. He was hoping no one would notice him, but he seemed to be drawing even more attention than usual. About seven different girls stopped him on his way to the Gryffindor table, asking to hear more about ‘the man with two faces’ or ‘the basilisk and the magic sword.’

Harry managed to keep his temper in check until the Patil twins started badgering him. That was the final straw. “You two were there during the Tri-Wizard Tournament! You saw me get the dragon egg. Why would you want _me_ to tell _you_ what happened with that bloody dragon? Check a pensieve if you can’t remember.”

Hermione was down at the far end of the table, whispering something with Ginny. But before he could get anywhere close to them, he was stopped yet again, this time by Colin Creevey. “Hey Harry! I just wanted you to know that I’m developing the photos now. I’ll be sure to show you when they’re done.”

Harry stopped in his tracks. “Photos? What photos?”

“Yesterday, at the pub, you asked me to take some pictures of you. You said if anyone asked, it would be great if you had some photos of yourself that you could show people.”

“To prove I was at the pub on Saturday?” Harry raised his eyebrows at that. That was actually pretty clever of Ron. “Er, thanks Colin. Let me know how those photos turn out.”

By the time Harry reached Hermione and Ginny, the two girls had their heads hunched together and were whispering so heatedly, he was pretty sure they didn’t even notice him.

“Did you see him chatting up Lavender Brown?” Hermione was stabbing her fork into her sausage with such ferocity, Harry wondered if she realized the poor thing was already dead. “And those jokes? ‘ _Did you hear the one about the wizard with the crooked staff?’_ Where in Merlin’s name did he pick those up? A Knockturn Alley brothel?”

“That one was actually pretty funny,” Ginny relented. “But how dare he take advantage of Harry like that! The only reason all those girls were fawning over him is because they thought he was the _Chosen One_. I had to put a silencing spell around my bed last night, because the girls in my dorm spent half the evening talking about how they never realized Harry Potter was so funny and outgoing and carefree.”

Harry frowned. He liked to think he was a little funny, but he definitely wasn’t outgoing or carefree.

Hermione moved on to stabbing her eggs as if they had personally offended her. “Did you hear Lavender Brown’s laugh? She sounded like a six-year-old giggling. Besides, I’ve seen that girl drawing little hearts and flowers around the edges of her notes. She _defiles_ her school notes with little doodles. Who does that?”

“Ugh, and that Parvati Patil!” Ginny fumed. “Since when is she so interested in Harry? She barely spared him a glance ever since he ignored her at the Yule Ball fourth year. And then Ron just had to stroll in with his stupid anecdotes, and suddenly Parvati’s like ‘Oh Harry, tell me the one about the Hungarian Horntail!’ It’s pathetic.”

Harry was now completely lost. “I thought you two liked Lavender and Parvati?”

The two girls practically jumped off the wooden bench. They looked like they had been caught in the middle of a crime. “Harry!” Hermione scolded, as if he was the one doing something wrong by approaching them. “What on Earth are you doing here?”

“At breakfast?”

Ginny was trying to catch her breath. Her face looked even redder than her hair. “We thought you were off with Ron.”

“I don’t even know where he is. Where is he, by the way?”

“Who knows?” Ginny shrugged. “He ran out of here in a bit of a fit.”

“Well,” Hermione explained. “To be fair, Ginny did hit him with one of her Bat-Bogey hexes.”

“I’m not sorry.” Ginny’s smirk looked downright scary. “If you can’t hex your own brother, who can you hex?”

Harry slowly edged away from the girls. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into them, but he definitely didn’t want bats coming out of his nose. “Ok, well, I’ll let you two get back to whatever you were doing…”

“Where are you off to?” Hermione asked, but she didn’t even let him answer before going on. “You should go start on your Defense essay. Neville told me that his grandmother is planning a Formal Tea with you this afternoon, so your lesson could take twice as long as usual.”

“Twice as long?” Harry was about to complain, but then he stopped himself. He had promised himself just last night that he was going to take this political stuff more seriously. “Fine. I have a lot to get done before that, then.”

“Here.” Ginny passed him a napkin full of sausages and a couple slices of toast. “I don’t know much about Formal Teas, but I doubt they’re very filling.”

“Er, thanks.” Harry was only too happy to accept food, but before he could make his way toward the exit, Hermione stopped him one last time.

“Oh my goodness! Harry, I almost forgot.” She tossed over her copy of the Daily Prophet. “Your little field trip yesterday made the front page. Despite all probability, you actually managed to draw more attention to yourself than Ron.”

Harry looked down at the cover of the newspaper. The front page read, ‘Trouble at Gringotts: Death Eaters Attack Wizarding Bank.’ Harry offered her thankful smile, tucked the paper under his arm, and made a beeline for the library as quickly as he could.

***

Harry almost couldn’t believe it when he found Ron in the school library instead of Hermione. “What are you doing here?”

“Avoiding Hermione,” said Ron.

“In the library?” Harry asked.

“She doesn’t bloody own it. I can come here too, if I want.”

Harry conceded that and threw his bag down into the seat next to his friend. “I notice you don’t have bats shooting out of your nose, so you must have removed Ginny’s hex.”

Ron turned the page of his book with a shrug. “That stupid spell was Ginny’s go-to move back in the DA. I had better know how to remove it by now. Not that I bloody deserved it.” He looked up from his book, giving his best friend a very serious look. “Harry, the girls have gone mental.”

“There must be something in the air,” Harry agreed. “Ginny and Hermione aren’t the only ones acting weird. Padme and Parvarti stopped me this morning, asking to hear the story of the Hungarian Horntail. Apparently, they didn’t get quite enough yesterday.”

Ron’s blush wasn’t quite as flaming as Ginny’s, but it was a close second. “Sorry, mate. I didn’t realize people would be so interested in what I had to say. I’m not used to people hanging on my every word like that. I didn’t mean to get so carried away. I really was trying to make you look good.”

“I believe you,” Harry relented, pulling out the newspaper Hermione had given him. “The problem is, I think you may have made me look a little too good.”

The front page article was rather hit or miss in regards to the truth of what happened at the bank. It seemed that the Carrows had disappeared shortly after Harry and Malfoy had made their exit from the scene. So, the Aurors and investigators had to rely on second-hand witness testimony, which seemed a little all over the place. Plus, the goblins were being even less helpful for the ministry than they had been for Harry. It seemed they were refusing to divulge who had been at the bank at that time, or what business had been conducted. Based on the bank’s official statement, Harry got the impression that the goblins really enjoyed being as difficult as possible toward the Ministry of Magic.

The other witnesses, the wizards and witches who happened to be in the Gringotts lobby at the time, were almost less helpful than the goblins. Some claimed that they had seen anywhere from five to ten Death Eaters, while others were saying there was just one. A few people claimed they had seen Horace Slughorn, but others said it could have been someone else, and since the real Slughorn was insisting he was in Hogsmeade at the time (and had witnesses) that theory quickly died.

One of the few things people could agree on, was that they had heard one of the Death Eaters (probably Amycus) screaming “Grab Mundungus! Just get Mundungus!” So, most people assumed that the man with the Slughorn look-alike was Mundungus Fletcher.

“I see you made the front page.” Ron peeked over his book with a teasing smile on his face. “Oh man, Harry, we can’t take you anywhere.”

“It’s not my fault.” Harry tossed the paper over for Ron to peruse. “Well, maybe a little. But how was I supposed to know the Death Eaters were on the hunt for Mundungus? At least Dung knows now. Even if he doesn’t read this article himself, someone’s bound to pass on the word to him. He’s probably hiding in the deepest, darkest hole in the wall he can find.”

“Bit of a weird coincidence, though,” Ron thought out loud, as he skimmed through the article. “You don’t think Malfoy set you up, do you?”

“No. Malfoy didn’t even know what hairs we were going to take for the Polyjuice. And if he had arranged something with the Death Eaters, then they would have been expecting Harry Potter, and the Carrows definitely didn’t know it was me. They were bloody shocked when they heard me speaking Parseltongue, and possibly even more surprised when I started fighting back. I doubt Mundungus would have put up much of a fight.”

“Yeah, I s’pose.” Ron conceded, also setting the paper aside and returning to his text. “I still think Malfoy’s up to something, though. There’s no way a person goes from being that big of a prat one day to becoming some sort of bleeding heart the next. Not happening.”

“He’s definitely not a bleeding heart.” Harry agreed. “But even his mates are getting mad at him for spending time with me. So, if it’s all an act, then it’s a bloody good one. Besides he…he saved my life, Ron. He could have apparated away without me; saved himself. He…he held out his hand to me. He didn’t have to, but I think he saved my life.”

Ron looked just as baffled as Harry felt. Before they could try to discuss what that might mean, Harry’s morning was interrupted yet again. “Hello Harry!” This time by Lavender Brown. “Hey Ron, I didn’t see you at Hogsmeade yesterday.”

“Oh,” Ron quickly shuffled his book aside. “I was around.” He and Harry had snuck back to the school as quickly as they could yesterday, after the fiasco in the Three Broomsticks.

“You missed it.” Lavender gave a little giggle. It did sound slightly like a six-year-old. “Harry was telling everyone the story of when you and he followed Ginny into the Chamber of Secrets.”

“Er, yeah, I heard about that.” Ron’s face was getting redder and redder.

“Harry said he killed the basilisk with a magical sword. Did you help?” Lavender was now entirely focused on Ron, as if Harry wasn’t even there. “I bet he didn’t do it all on his own. You were there too, right? Did you help slay the basilisk?”

Ron was staring staunchly at the table in front of him. “Er…no. I was sort of…”

Harry cut him off before Ron could put his foot in his mouth. “Ron was busy preventing the entire chamber from caving in!”

“What?” asked Lavender.

“What?” asked Ron.

“Don’t be so modest, Ron.” Harry insisted. “Oh yeah, Gilderoy Lockhart panicked in the chamber and almost sent the whole thing crashing down. If Ron hadn’t prevented it, we’d probably still be trapped down there.”

Lavender looked aghast. “Is that true, Ron? _The_ Gilderoy Lockhart was so scared that he panicked, but you kept a level head? You helped keep the chamber from collapsing while Harry fought a basilisk?”

Ron seemed to be mentally sifting through the question for any inaccuracies. Ron _had_ been sorting through the rubble to unblock the collapsed passageway. And that _did_ happen at the same time that Harry was fighting the basilisk, just in two very different parts of the chamber. “That is…technically true, yes.”

“Oh Morgana! That’s amazing! What other adventures have you two had together?”

Harry was more than happy to share credit with someone other than himself, but as Lavender’s voice began to rise, so did the interest levels of the other students around. Harry could hear a soft murmuring of “Is Potter going to tell more stories?”

Harry panicked at the thought. Fortunately, Ron caught the dread in his eyes, and immediately packed his book away. “Anyway, Lavender, glad we had this chat. Harry and I should probably get going though.”

“But wait! Ron, could you at least tell me some more stories of all the amazing things you’ve done with Harry?” Several students were creeping up, clearly trying to gather some more information on Harry and Ron’s various misadventures.

“Maybe another time, Lavender.” Ron slung his bag over his shoulder and started edging toward Harry. “I just remembered, Harry and I need to go…away. Work on some essay or something.”

“Yeah, we’ve got lots of homework.” Harry could see Romilda Vane and her gaggle were blocking the front entrance of the library, so he started dragging Ron toward the back shelves instead. “In fact, we need to pick up some books on…” he glanced at whatever direction was the opposite the fourth year Gryffindors. “Herbology.”

Harry darted down a narrow aisle and Ron tore off after him. “See you ‘round, Lavender.”

They darted down one row of books and then another, turning several corners, to try and prevent any of the younger years from following them. It only took a few minutes to find a deserted corner, near the section for breeding magical animals.

 Harry leaned against the bookshelf and tried to catch his breath. “The students of this school really need to get some hobbies or something. My life cannot possibly be that interesting.”

“Harry?” Ron looked rather shaken, as well. “What was that about? Why’d you have to go bragging about me to Lavender Brown? Now she’s going to think I’m some amazing hero or something. How am I supposed to talk to her after that?”

“Are you kidding me?” Harry pulled out a flimsy pamphlet on different Hippogriff breeds and threw it at Ron’s thick head. “You did the same thing to me! According to Ginny, half the girls in Gryffindor now think I’m some sort of charming and carefree funny-guy. Boy are they going to be disappointed!”

“You’re pretty charming and all that.” Ron countered, but he yielded quickly. “Sort of.” Harry’s frown didn’t diminish in the least, and soon Ron broke. “Look I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to. It’s just, I’m not used to all that attention, you know? And it’s not just the Boy-Who-Lived thing, either. It was kind of fun to not be me for a bit. I know people think I’m just a goofball. So, to be someone else, anyone else, for an hour… To be able to say things and not have to worry about people thinking I’m just some big joke, it was like a shock to the system. I don’t know how to describe it, I just never felt more confident before. So unafraid to just…be. You know?”

“What are you on about?” Harry thought it over. It hadn’t felt very freeing to be Mundungus Fletcher, but Mundugus Fletcher was a thief and a scoundrel, so that was hardly a comparison. On the other hand, it was always nice to talk to people before they realized who he was and started gawking at his forehead. “It is sort of nice to not have to deal with people’s preconceived notions, I guess.”

Ron had swung his bag around and was digging inside. “Look, I’m sorry if I attracted a bunch of unwanted attention, but I know how to make it up to you.”

“How?”

Ron pulled a thick book out of his bag, and Harry realized it was the one the boy had been reading before. It wasn’t one of their schoolbooks. Ron handed it over and Harry read the cover. ‘The Magic of Money Management: Turn those Knuts into Galleons with these Invigorating Investment Initiatives.’

“What is this?” Harry asked.

Ron flipped the book open and showed him the first few pages. There were lots of colorful charts and graphs. “I ordered it a couple weeks ago. I’m not like you, Harry, I don’t have a bloody vault waiting for me when I graduate Hogwarts. And Malfoy’s got that whole stupid manor and more money than he knows what to do with and a big fancy library… Well, I’m going to have a library too!”

“Do you want a library?”

“People like libraries, Harry.”

“I suppose _some_ people do.” Harry could think of one person in particular who really liked libraries, and suddenly this whole thing made a lot more sense.

“Well, anyway,” Ron explained, “Maybe I won’t have a library as big and fancy as Malfoy’s, but I could still have enough books that people would enjoy it.” Harry didn’t bother asking which people Ron was talking about. “I know I don’t have much money now, but according to this book, all I have to do is be really careful with how I manage the money that I do have. I even sent ten galleons to Fred and George yesterday. I told them I want to be an investor like you. It was most of my savings, but the book said the more you invest the more you can earn.”

Harry felt that now would be a poor time to point out that he had given the twins one thousand galleons, and that ten galleons probably wasn’t worth their time. He wondered if Fred and George would even take Ron seriously. They didn’t usually. In fact, they seemed to derive great pleasure in poking fun at their youngest brother. Harry would have to send them a letter asking them to please accept Ron’s offer, as a favor to him. They’d probably do it for Harry. After all, they’d gifted Ron new dress robes under Harry’s direction.

Harry swallowed his misgivings and gave Ron the kindest smile he could muster. “That’s great Ron, but what does this have to do with me?”

“This is how I can make it up to you, Harry.” He pointed to a fancy pie chart in his book. “I can teach you how to diversify your portfolio.”

“Diversify my what?”

“Your portfolio!”  Ron pointed to the chart again. It did have lots of different colors. “You’ve got to diversify it. That’s very important. That’s basically rule number one.”

“Ok,” said Harry. “But what does that mean exactly?”

“Er, not quite sure yet,” Ron admitted. “Honestly, I’m only on chapter two. But, I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out.”

“Alright, be sure to keep me posted. I’d hate for my portfolio to go without the right amount of diversity.” Honestly, Harry had no idea what was in his vaults, or what to do with any of it. So, whatever ideas Ron could scrape together would probably be better than nothing.

“Will do!” Ron promised. With that settled, the two of them stood in silence for a moment. “So, what do you want to do now? Do you want to risk it and try to sneak out of here?”

Harry shook his head and sunk down to the floor, getting himself comfortable. “Nah, I should probably start my essay for Snape.”

Ron nodded and sat down beside him. “We could do that, or we could read through the Half Blood Prince’s notes some more and see what other spells he has written.”

Harry couldn’t hold back his excitement as he pulled out his battered Potions textbook instead of his Defense one. “Brilliant. Yes! Let’s do that while Hermione’s not around. I thought I saw one called ‘Levicorpus’ the other day and I want to find out what that one does. We can do the essay later. It’s not as though Snape ever teaches us anything useful anyway.”

***

Down several corridors, in the bowels of the castle, Draco Malfoy checked that his bracelet was in place before apparating to his family’s lavish manor. Or at least, what had been a lavish manor. The place had become increasingly lifeless and cold as of late.

According to Professor Snape, the family Quidditch pitch was now completely fenced in and the grass had long since died. The Dark Lord didn’t want to worry about the muggles escaping while he watched from his throne as his snake hunted them down. Apparently, this had become a fairly regular activity. Draco shuddered at the thought. The Quidditch pitch had been one of his favorite places in the whole world; full of so many happy memories. Now it was a graveyard.

Fortunately, the Dark Mark wasn’t tugging him toward the grounds this time, but further into the house itself. Draco left the foyer behind and started down the dimly lit hallways. Had his house always been this dark and oppressive?

As Draco got closer to his destination, he tried to keep his mind clear. Although that was easier said than done. Right now, the only hope that he would leave this house alive again, was that the Dark Lord had no idea that the two individuals who escaped the Carrows yesterday were actually Potter and himself. But then, why would the Dark Lord suspect that? The Carrows certainly had no idea.

Draco’s emotions spiraled as the pull from his Dark Mark led him to the formal dining room. The Dark Lord had never summoned him there before. What fresh horror awaited him this time?

Before he opened the heavy double doors, Draco made sure his face was schooled into a blank mask and his mind was free from any aberrant thoughts. He could not think about Harry Potter right now, or what had happened yesterday, or what could or should have happened. He most definitely could not think about the fact that he could have easily apparated Potter straight to his master, but instead he had panicked and brought them both back to the safety of Hogwarts.

It was a mistake. It wouldn’t happen again. In fact, it hadn’t happened at all. He needed to forget about it. Draco’s goal was to capture Harry Potter and deliver him to his lord. That hadn’t changed, and one momentary lapse of judgement wasn’t going to matter in the long run. Harry Potter was not his ally and he most certainly was not his friend. The other young man was simply a means to an end. And with that thought firmly planted in the forefront of his mind, Draco decided he couldn’t keep his lord waiting any longer.

The Dark Lord typically only used the formal dining room of the manor for Inner Circle Meetings, so Draco was quite shocked when he saw the glassware and table settings laid out on the magnificent table. Draco was even more surprised when he realized that the Dark Lord was not the only one seated at the table. His mother and aunt Bellatrix had taken up seats across from each other, a few chairs down from the head of the table.

“My Lord?” Draco wasn’t entirely sure what the Dark Lord wanted, but he knelt on one knee regardless and waited for instructions. 

“Draco,” the hissing voice sounded highly amused. “You seemed so disappointed last time I mentioned breakfast and then fed Nagini instead of you. Today I thought you and your family would be honored to join me for a meal.”

Draco was mildly surprised that the figure before him ate food at all. Breakfast almost seemed too human for him. The Malfoy heir had certainly never seen such an occurrence, but then the suite of rooms the Dark Lord stayed in did have a dining room of its own, so perhaps he just ate in private.

“My Lord, I would be honored to break bread with you.” Draco quickly took up the seat next to his mother, still not entirely sure what was going to happen.

The room went silent once they were all seated, and Draco stared nervously at the empty plate in front of him. A terrifying thought ran through his mind. _What were they going to be eating?_

As if the Dark Lord had read his thoughts without even needing to make eye contact, the man spoke up. “Ah yes, of course, we still need to be served.” A deathly pale hand raised a bone white wand, and Draco tried his hardest not to flinch when a loud ring resounded through the hall.

Not a moment later, the door to the kitchens opened, and two shaking and cowering figures shuffled through. Draco recognized them at once; Amycus and Alecto Carrow. However, they looked quite different than they had the day before. For one thing, the appeared haunted, pale, and exhausted. Draco was sure they must not have slept a wink last night, and probably hadn’t eaten since yesterday either. The Dark Lord would not have allowed them any rest or comfort after such a disastrous failure at the bank yesterday. The siblings were also visibly twitching, a common after-effect of the Cruciatus curse.

Of course, the thing that stuck out the most was their clothes. Or rather, lack of clothes. The brother, Amycus, seemed to be wrapped in some sort of table cloth. While the sister, Alecto, had fashioned some sort of toga out of the second floor curtains. Draco could perhaps understand why the Dark Lord might take away their clothes to humiliate them, but why would the man allow them to fashion new coverings from household linens?

“I’m sure the three of you read in the paper this morning just how utterly these two failed me yesterday.” The Dark Lord’s voice was torn between amusement at the Carrow’s degradation and fury at discussing their ineptitude. “Two of my highest ranking Death Eaters failed to capture the miserable, second-rate thief, Mundungus Fletcher. It is an insult to myself and our entire effort in this war.”

“My Lord,” Alecto scrambled on her knees, tears pouring from her eyes. “Please forgive us. Please, it was an anomaly only. He took us by surprise.”

“He turned and started hissing, my Lord.” Amycus joined his sister on his knees. Both their voices were hoarse; probably from screaming. “I know I’ve only heard Parseltongue a few times, but it sounded so similar. He must have been making those noises on purpose to try and shock us.”

 “Crucio!” The Dark Lord let the curse linger as Aunt Bellatrix laughed in delight. “How dare you compare Fletcher’s pitiful sputters of fear to the ancient language of my forebears! That worthless excuse for a wizard has never shown one ounce of bravado or ingenuity.” Draco kept his thoughts carefully blank, and his face as smooth as a mask.

Finally, the man at the head of the table allowed the spell to end so that the siblings would be able to hear what he was saying. It would have been difficult over so much screaming. “Mundungus Fletcher is barely one step above a squib. And the two of you combined could not subdue him even with the element of surprise.”

Suddenly, the Dark Lord’s furious expression turned into a feral smile. It was far more terrifying than his anger. “This is why the two of you will be serving us this morning. Both of you have proven yourselves worthless as wizards. Perhaps you will prove to be better house elves.”

So that explained why the two of them were covered in table clothes and curtains instead of regular clothing. The Dark Lord wanted to both hurt them and humiliate them, and Draco and his family were there to provide an audience for that humiliation. It was certainly an effective punishment; Draco could not think of a lower being than a house elf. It was an insult of the highest degree.

As the Carrows brought in the first platters of breakfast foods, Aunt Bellatrix wasted no time in making their job more difficult. She started with a couple subtle tripping hexes. The two siblings stumbled and faltered a bit, but valiantly carried the platters to the table without spilling anything. It was difficult to imagine what punishment that would have entailed.

When the siblings returned to bring in the next round of food, Bellatrix stepped up her efforts. Draco watched silently as Bellatrix’s Engorgio caused a bowl of black pudding to grow so large that Amycus was forced to drop it. Still, the Dark Lord did absolutely nothing to discourage her.

The entire thing was difficult to watch. Draco turned to his mother and realized that she too, was looking anywhere but at the Carrows.

“Draco.” He turned at his name, toward the red eyes of the Dark Lord.

“Yes, my Lord?”

“I believe you also have an important assignment. One that was far easier than the Carrows’. How is that progressing? Have you befriended Harry Potter yet?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see Alecto falling to the ground after a well-placed jinx from his aunt. It seemed the battered woman wasn’t able to get up again, or maybe she decided it wasn’t worth it. Instead, she simply crawled with the platter of sausages over to the table.

Draco carefully cleared his throat. “Things are progressing quite well, my Lord. Potter is already beginning to trust me and confide in me. I’m sure I will be able to deliver him to you soon.”

There was a crash. Bellatrix had shot a blasting curse at the steaming pot of coffee in Amycus’s hands. It seemed the man had managed to jump out of the way surprisingly quickly, but his hands still took quite a splash. They were already turning bright red and blistering from the heat of the liquid.

The Dark Lord seemed completely oblivious to the plight of his followers. “Harry Potter has begun to trust you? Would he be willing to leave the school with you? With that bracelet of yours, all you need to do is tell the boy you are apparating him one place, and then take him straight to the Manor.”

Draco made sure his occlumency shields were firmly in place and forced himself to look directly at the Dark Lord. It was even more unsettling than looking at Amycus writhing on the floor. “I’m not entirely sure, My Lord. Potter certainly trusts me enough to meet me at Hogsmeade under teacher supervision. And he trusts me enough to borrow books from me, but allowing me to apparate him somewhere may take slightly more time.”

Another loud shatter made Draco turn again. It seemed Aunt Bellatrix had grabbed her crystal glass and smashed it onto the floor by her feet. Broken glass scattered everywhere. “My glass broke,” she announced. “Alecto, bring me another one.”

Draco watched as the battered woman crawled back to the kitchen. She still seemed unable to stand, from whatever punishment she’d been subjected to since yesterday now compounded with Bellatrix’s torments.

The Dark Lord spared no attention for anything but Draco. “Harry Potter has been borrowing books from you? What books?”

“Oh,” Draco had to try very hard not to get distracted by Alecto, as she crawled back with a fresh glass. “He borrowed a book on Wizarding Genealogy, one on breathing and meditation techniques, and there was one on dr –“

“I can’t reach it from there!” Bellatrix shouted, interrupting Draco’s list. Alecto was trying to pass the other woman her replacement stemware without stepping into the pile of broken glass that littered the floor. With the ‘house elf’ outfit, she wasn’t wearing any shoes. Not that it mattered since she didn’t seem to be able to stand. “Come closer,” Bellatrix purred. “Set it right here, next to my plate.”

Alecto spared one brief pleading look toward her master, but there was no help to be found. The man seemed to delight in her torment almost as much as Bellatrix. Finally, with no other option available, the broken woman crawled across the broken glass to deliver Bellatrix her fresh cup. Draco’s aunt cackled like mad over the sound of the crunching glass.

“Why is Harry Potter reading books on meditation techniques?” The Dark Lord once again pulled Draco’s attention back away from the horror with the Carrows.

“Potter is always losing his temper and speaking without thinking.” Draco once again kept his features completely expressionless. He had to force himself not to think of any recent examples of Potter’s impulsiveness. “I can only assume he wants to learn to calm himself and curb these instincts.”

“Bella!” Draco’s attention was once again diverted when his mother chose that moment to lunge from her seat and wrap her hand around a large glass carafe that Bellatrix was moments away from tossing. He could only imagine how much broken glass she’d be able to spread if she smashed that thing. “Sister dear,” his mother tried to calm the situation. “That carafe was a wedding gift from the Greengrasses. It was hand-made in Paris.” Bellatrix frowned but allowed Narcissa to pry the vessel from her fingers. Alecto almost sighed with relief.

Narcissa carefully placed the container back on the table without spilling any of the pumpkin juice inside. “I, of course, want you to enjoy your breakfast, Bella,” Draco’s mother continued. “However, if you insist of breaking my glassware, I will have to ask the servers to bring you a child’s cup. The crystal has been in the Malfoy family for generations.”

Bellatrix’s smile was almost as terrifying as the Dark Lord’s. “Don’t worry, little sister. I can enjoy myself just fine without breaking your precious heirlooms.” Without a word, she shot another tripping jinx at Amycus, and the man fell into the pile of broken glass beside his sister.

“Are you enjoying your breakfast, Draco?” The young man felt quite off kilter as his head swiveled back toward the Dark Lord.  The snake-like figure was still watching the proceedings with perverted glee. Draco noticed that the man hadn’t touched any food. Maybe he didn’t eat after all.

“Of course, my Lord.” Draco quickly plopped a few bites of sausage into his mouth to emphasize this.

“You seem quite distracted by the Carrows. Are you perhaps taking note of exactly what happens to my followers when they fail to perform the task I assigned to them?”

“Yes, my Lord. I have certainly learned a valuable lesson today.”

***

Harry dropped his bag in the corner of the spare classroom and made his way to the table with Madam Longbottom. “So, what are we learning today? I heard we were going to have a formal tea.”

“Perhaps we shall have tea,” the woman pursed her ancient lips. “Or perhaps I should spend the next three hours reminding you of proper greetings.”

Harry flinched and internally reprimanded himself. “I’m sorry. I meant to say: Good afternoon Madam Longbottom. It’s wonderful to see you again, as always. Will I have the pleasure of joining you for tea today?”

“Yes, dear boy,” she nodded approvingly. “However, you will have even more company today than usual.”

Before Harry could ask what that meant, the door he had just walked through opened again and Neville walked in, closely followed by Hermione.

“Hermione? What are you doing here?” When Harry heard a determined cough to his right, he tried again. “I mean, hello Hermione. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

As it turned out, Madam Longbottom had asked Neville to come along with a friend. That way, Harry to get more practice socializing with other witches and wizards in a ‘formal’ setting. Apparently, Hermione had been quite enthusiastic to volunteer so that she, too, could get lessons in wizarding etiquette.

“My parents weren’t very strict about table manners unless we had guests over,” Hermione explained. “But it’s amazing how many new rules you have to consider once magic is involved. I’ve already read up through chapter seven of Miss Marple’s etiquette guide, and the differences between muggle and wizarding etiquette are quite fascinating. I never realized there were specific spells that were considered rude to perform at the table, while other spells are encouraged.”

Madam Longbottom nodded in agreement. “Anything too showy is considered quite ostentatious.” Harry remembered the Weasley twins trying to levitate all the food onto the dinner table and their mother yelling at them to knock it off. “Today we’ll practice a tea in a more intimate setting, when you are serving yourself. Next time, we’ll practice a tea when there are servers to wait upon you.”

Augusta began by explaining the proper table setting and the proper order for who serves first, while Hermione asked endless questions about little things she had picked up in her reading. Harry was starting to wish his classmate hadn’t come after all. At first, he’d been happy to have an extra muggle-raised friend to learn with, but it was quickly becoming clear that Harry was the only person in the room who had no idea what he was supposed to be doing.

“I was ever so surprised to learn that ‘Wingardium Leviosa’ should never be used to pass things along the table,” Hermione rattled on. “Apparently there’s a special spell for that.”

“Quite right, dear girl.” Madam Longbottom’s head swiveled back toward Harry and the vulture swung with it. “Heir Potter, I don’t particularly mind if you raise or curl your pinky, but there is absolutely no reason for it to be wrapped around your cup. There is a handle. Use it.” The vulture swung back around. “As I was saying dear, a regular levitation spell is far too unstable. Unless the caster is quite skilled, they’re more likely to spill whatever it is they’re trying to pass.”

In the meantime, Harry tried to figure out how exactly he was supposed to pick up the stupid little china teacup without spilling it. He was used to drinking tea from a nice sturdy mug; Aunt Petunia would never have let him near her fine china. And the cup in front of him had a handle so small, he could barely fit a single finger through.

“Psst,” came a whisper from across the table. Harry looked up to see Neville giving him a sympathetic smile. “One finger through the loop, and then your thumb goes on top of the handle for balance.” He carefully lifted his cup to show his friend how it was done. Harry was strangely reminded of last year, when he had spent countless hours showing Neville over and over again the proper wand movements for different defensive spells. He supposed this was repayment.

In the meantime, Hermione was hounding Madam Longbottom with question after question with an enthusiasm she usually reserved for homework. “Are there this many little rules and expectations for other types of wizarding get-togethers? Besides meals and teatime? Do holiday celebrations and big festivities have the same type of guidelines?”

“You can’t imagine,” Neville mumbled, and Harry had to try and cover up his snort by taking a swig a tea.

The vulture hat swiveled back over to them again. It almost seemed like it was looking for prey. “Neville don’t mumble, it makes you look weak. And as for you, Heir Potter, tea is intended to go in one’s mouth, not out one’s nose.  If you cannot handle that basic concept I’m sure we can accommodate you by serving something that is intended to go in one’s nose.” Neville had gone pale, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure if she was joking or not. He decided it was best not to risk it.

“No thank you, Madam. I think I’ve got the hang of it now.”

Augusta gave a curt nod, which caused the vulture to bob with her, and swung her head back toward Hermione. “The more formal the event, the more expectations come with it, of course. A Wizengamot Session has all sorts of rules about who can speak and when. And of course, holidays and weddings have their own traditions.”

“Oh yes, I was meaning to ask about that,” Hermione carefully poured herself some more tea while Harry tried not to slurp his own. He didn’t know what she would threaten to serve him over a slurping mishap. “Miss Marple referenced another book that I was interested in called ‘Celebrating the Seasons: Traditional Wizarding Ceremonies and Rituals.’ I looked for it in the library, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. Do you know if Flourish and Blotts would have a copy?”

Before Augusta answered, her arm snapped out and caught Harry’s when he tried to reach for a biscuit. “As pushy as your father, I see.” Harry frowned, as his wrist was held in a surprisingly strong grip. “If you have to reach across the table to grab something, then use the spell I showed you to bring it to yourself. Unless you’re as clumsy as Neville, and then for all our sakes, simply ask someone to pass it to you.”

Harry massaged his sore wrist as he glanced over at the poor boy in question. Neville’s ears were bright red with embarrassment, but he simply sipped his teacup with a grace Harry had certainly never seen him use for wandwork. Harry was about to speak up in his friend’s defense when Hermione beat him to it. “Excuse me, Madam Longbottom…”

“Of course, dear girl, forgive me. You were talking about MacDougal’s book of rituals.” Madam Longbottom smiled primly, as her vulture swung back around. “You won’t find it in any mainstream establishment these days. All those ceremonies are illegal now.”

“Illegal?” Hermione cried. Harry glanced up as well, slightly distracted from his new goal of using ‘Locomotor’ to encourage the tray of biscuits in his direction. Hermione had completely forgotten about tea; her face was aghast with horror. “Merlin, what did those rituals entail? Did they have…sacrifices or something?”

“Oh heavens no,” Augusta looked offended by the very notion. “Nothing like that at all. No, most of them were quite harmless. I think one of the options for the Samhain Ritual included a few drops of the caster’s blood, but nothing more sordid than that. Besides, I think most people performed the herbal ritual, anyway. It was much simpler to set up.”

Harry was still carefully guiding the cookies across the table as Hermione tried to get to the bottom of this new mystery. “But if the ceremonies were so harmless, why are they outlawed?”

“Well,” Augusta explained. “Most of them involved Elemental Magic, and a few even used Blood Magic, which are both…”

Harry lost all his concentration and scattered the biscuits across the table. “They’re Ancient Magic,” he breathed.

“Heir Potter!” Madam Longbottom literally clutched her pearls.

Just as Harry was about to apologize, Neville immediately raised his wand and cleared up the mess with one quick spell. Before Harry could express his surprise at Neville’s seamless spell-casting, the boy muttered, “Don’t worry, you’re not the first person to lose concentration halfway through a Locomotor spell.”

“Harry are you alright?” Hermione asked, but Harry had already turned toward Augusta.

“Elemental Magic and Blood Magic are both forms of Ancient Magic, and so now they’re illegal.” Harry said it like a statement, but the elderly woman nodded anyway. Her vulture bobbed along with her.

Hermione frowned, obviously missing something. “Ancient Magic? But I thought Mind Magic was a form of Ancient Magic?” The woman at the head of the table nodded again. Hermione blanched. “Mind Magic is illegal!? Since when? I knew it was considered inappropriate for school, but I didn’t realize it was actually against the law. Why is it illegal?”

Harry also turned toward Augusta at that question, eager to get some idea as to why. However, when he looked at the elderly woman, he found her staring right back at him, as if it were somehow his fault that Ancient Magic was illegal. But then, Dumbledore had used Harry’s proxy vote to break the tie and declare it illegal, so perhaps it sort of was his fault.

“If you want to know why Ancient Magic is illegal,” the woman looked right at the young man as she spoke. “Perhaps you should ask your headmaster.”

Harry could see Hermione out of the corner of his eye turning toward him, but he focused his attention on his tutor as he spoke. “Don’t worry, I will.”

***

Harry was about twenty minutes early when he arrived at the Headmaster’s office Monday evening. Yet the man was already seated serenely behind his desk with the pensieve already in place. “Why Harry, my dear boy, you have taken me entirely by surprise,” he said, despite all evidence to the contrary. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever known you to be quite so prompt.”

“Yeah, sorry if I’m a bit early, but I really wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Wonderful!” the headmaster exclaimed, while gesturing Harry to one of his flowery little chairs. Harry blushed when he remembered the dream where he had sat in that same chair, but he didn’t do anything else to show his mixed emotions. “I was actually hoping to speak with you as well, Harry. I always find it far more satisfying when the person you wish to speak with, also wishes to speak with you. It makes conversations infinitely more engaging. Care for a lemon drop?”

Harry looked up at the bowl of sweets and his eyes instantly landed on the newspaper sitting, ever so innocuously, on the desk beside the candies. It was the Sunday morning post with the headline: ‘Trouble at Gringotts: Death Eaters Attack Wizarding Bank.’

“Sir, why is that sitting there?”

“Oh that?” Dumbledore shrugged, his expression far too innocent for Harry’s liking. “No reason in particular. So, how was your weekend, Harry?”

 “Er, it was…ok I s’pose.”

“I’m so glad to see you are all in one piece and in good health, my dear boy. But then, why wouldn’t you be? Since you didn’t engage in any needlessly reckless activities this weekend.”

“Actually, sir, I think I will take a lemon drop.” Harry shoved the candy in his mouth and stared down at the desk.

“Hmm.” The headmaster was studying him carefully, but Harry refused to meet his eyes. “Well, I suppose I should put this newspaper away.” The man gracefully stood and levitated the newspaper toward himself, but he specifically maneuvered it so that it passed right under Harry’s nose. As soon as it landed in the headmaster’s non-blackened hand, the man paused. “That is, unless you’d like to read it? Did you hear about the incident at Gringotts Bank?”

“I’m fairly aware of it, yeah.” Harry spoke around the hard candy in his mouth. He tried his best to focus on the sweet flavor and nothing else.

“Of course,” the headmaster smiled knowingly. “News does tend to spread quickly. But then, you would have been quite distracted at the time of this incident. Apparently, you were _very_ busy at the time, telling several animated stories about your various adventures to a legion of fans.” Dumbledore also plopped a lemon drop into his mouth before adding, “As you are so prone to do.”

“I mean…I did stop by the Three Broomsticks, sir.”

“I’ve no doubt,” the headmaster continued, with that same encouraging smile. “Professor Slughorn agrees that he saw you heading that way. Although, I’m not sure how much I can trust his account of things. You see, your potion’s professor assures me that he spent the entire day in Hogsmeade, but Professor Snape insists that he saw the man at the Leaky Cauldron, along with Mundungus Fletcher, both acting quite suspiciously.”

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t trust anything Snape said.”

“Professor Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore kindly reminded him, as he retook his seat. “And Arthur and Molly both saw them as well.”

“Oh. Right. Well, in that case…” Harry wasn’t sure what else to say, and he was feeling quite defensive. Perhaps that’s why he suddenly switched tactics. “Why did you make Ancient Magic illegal?”

Dumbledore opened his mouth, and then shut it. He opened it again, but all he managed to say was, “Harry, what are you talking about?”

“You heard me.” Harry was relieved to finally be on the offensive in this conversation. “You used my family’s proxy vote to make Ancient Magic illegal. I saw you do it in that pensieve. It was one of the memories you showed me. So, why did you do it?”

The young Gryffindor wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Professor Dumbledore look quite so blind-sided. Under other circumstances, it might be funny. “Harry, we went over this while we were still in the pensieve. Ancient Magic can be very dangerous for both the person who uses it and the person whom it is used against.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “That’s what you said, sir, but then you told me to take an Inheritance Test that uses Blood Magic, which is Ancient Magic. And you wanted me to learn Occlumency last year, and apparently that counts as Ancient Magic as well. And then Hermione wanted to look at some book on traditional wizarding ceremonies, but Augusta said those are illegal now, because they use Elemental Magic which, again, is Ancient Magic. So how dangerous can it honestly be and why did you really make it illegal?”

Dumbledore’s expression slowly changed to a sad smile. “I can see that this is something that’s been weighing on your mind for some time. I take it that this is what you came early to discuss?” Harry nodded, and Dumbledore’s smile grew a little more indulging. “I must say, I knew you were becoming more interested in politics, but I had no idea your interest had become quite so passionate.”

“I don’t even really understand what’s going on, sir. I just want to understand.” It certainly wasn’t the first time Harry had felt this way, and he was pretty sick of it. “Can you please just explain to me why you passed that law?”

Instead of speaking, Dumbledore pulled out a pocket watch. Harry glanced at the little golden trinket to try and figure out what Dumbledore was looking at, but he didn’t see any numbers, just stars and moons. It certainly didn’t make any sense to Harry, but Dumbledore must have been able to read it because he said, “If I had known we had so much material to cover, I would have asked you to stop by earlier. I certainly don’t want you to lose any sleep on a school night.”

“I have free period tomorrow afternoon,” Harry was quick to chime in. “I can take a nap if I need to, sir.”

“Oh?” Dumbledore stowed the pocket watch away. “Now Harry, my dear boy, there is a simple answer to your question, but it is not the full answer. The full answer is a bit more complicated and may take some time to explain. However, I am inclined to believe that you are not interested in any partial truths. You are looking for the full story.”

 “Yeah, if there’s a story behind why you pushed that bill through, then I’d like to hear it, sir.”

Harry sat uncertainly while Dumbledore, once again, swept up from his seat. The man pulled out his wand and materialized a bright green wizard’s hat which almost, but didn’t quite, match his lime green and gold robes. “Well, in that case,” Dumbledore explained. “I suppose it would be better to show you rather than tell you.”

As the old man strode purposefully toward the door, Harry bolted after him. “Where are we going, sir?”

Dumbledore turned and winked at him over his half-moon spectacles. “To a magical place where one can find the answer to many of life’s mysteries and unlock both terrible and wondrous secrets.”

“Really?” Harry could barely contain his excitement. “Where’s that?”

“The library.”

Harry tried to hold back his disappointment. “Oh.”

***

Harry had never walked the halls of Hogwarts with Albus Dumbledore at his side. If he thought people tended to stare at him on a regular day, it was nothing compared to how they gawked when Harry and Dumbledore marched past side by side. Even though it was getting close to curfew, there were still a fair number of students milling around, especially near the library. Many of them were quick to turn and point out the two famous wizards, who simply _must_ be up to something secret and important. Professor Flitwick even dropped his paperwork in excitement when he saw the two of them striding past. It was as though people thought Harry and Dumbledore were on their way to go defeat Voldemort right that very moment.  

When they entered the library, Dumbledore wasted no time in steering Harry to the Restricted Section. Harry was once again reminded of one of his recent dreams with Tom Riddle. Riddle had been looking at some book on dark magic. What was it called again? He supposed it didn’t matter.

Harry walked into the segregated little area in the back which smelled of ancient books. He couldn’t help but notice that there were definitely fewer books in the Restricted Section now, than there had been in the dream. Perhaps they had been removed because they contained Ancient Magic, which was now illegal? Perhaps they had been removed for other reasons?

“I think we’ll start with…these.” Dumbledore began levitating books off the shelves and sending them to a small reading desk in the corner. “Hmm, this one also has some good examples.”

Harry grabbed one of the books at the top of the stack, while Dumbledore rounded up more and more, sending the books dancing through the dusty air toward his student. Harry certainly hoped he wouldn’t be expected to read all these books cover to cover. They looked very old and very thick.

While Dumbledore walked down the aisles, occasionally sending yet another book flying back to the desk, Harry looked down at the title in his hands; ‘Fifteenth Century Fiends.’ He went ahead and flipped it open. “The Fifteenth Century? Sir, I know you said the answer to my question was long and convoluted, but does it really begin in the Fifteenth Century?”

“It began even before that, my dear boy.” Dumbledore called from somewhere in the shadows. “But we’ll have to start somewhere.”

“You there!” Harry suddenly looked up at the stern face of Madam Pince, the librarian. “No students in the Restricted Section without a note.”

“It’s quite alright, Irma,” explained Dumbledore as he came around the corner. “He’s with me.”

Madam Pince didn’t take her shrewd eyes off Harry. “Does he have a note?”

Harry tried to subtly move himself behind Dumbledore as the librarian continued to glare down at him. Dumbledore seemed almost as flummoxed as Harry. “No, Irma, there’s no note because he is physically here with me. I am standing here, next to him, giving him permission to be here.”

Madam Pince didn’t back down. “The rule states that no students are allowed in the Restricted Section without a note.”

Dumbledore sighed and with a wave of his wand a note appeared in the woman’s hands. “There you are. A note.”

To Harry’s bemusement, the librarian then proceeded to inspect the note as if she thought it might be a forgery. Finally, she relented and was about to leave, when she turned back to Harry and told him. “No levitating the books. It’s against the rules. You might drop them.”

“I can assure you, Irma, that Harry is quite capable of…” Dumbledore paused as it seemed to occur to him that this was an argument that wasn’t worth fighting for. “On second thought, never mind. Thank you, my dear woman, for your unyielding adherence to executing the rules of this administration.”

When they were finally alone again, Dumbledore moved so he could look over Harry’s shoulder at the book in his hands. “Which one do you have there?” he asked. “Ah yes, lots of fiends in the Fifteenth Century, I’m afraid. I believe this book has a chapter on Morgana the Black. Why don’t you skip ahead to that?”

Harry did as he was told and flipped through the pages until he reached a black and white drawing of a beautifully terrifying woman with dark hair and gaunt eyes, who reminded him slightly of Bellatrix Lestrange. “She’s almost as scary as Madam Pince,” Harry commented.

Dumbledore chuckled at that. “Almost, but not quite,” he agreed. Then he pointed to a particular passage in the text. “But back to the matter at hand, I think this is what we’re looking for.”

Harry began to read out loud. “ _While Morgana was highly skilled in many branches of the Dark Arts, it was her skill at Blood Magic that made her particularly unstoppable. Many wizards and witches tried to defeat her with duels, but could not even get close enough to raise a wand to her. According to legend, her skill at Blood Magic became so strong in her prime, that she could rip the bones from a person’s body with the merest flick of her wrist.”_

Harry balked at the horrible words. “Is that even possible?”

Dumbledore merely shrugged. “Blood Magic gives the caster power over their own body or the body of another person. In theory, if a person were skilled enough and powerful enough, such a thing is not outside the realm of possibility. I have never heard of such a thing actually occurring, however.”

Without a word, Dumbledore slipped another book into Harry’s hands, and pointed to another passage. Again, Harry read aloud. “ _Herpo the Foul is considered one of the first wizards to take on the title of Dark Lord. His ruthlessness was matched only by his power at Soul Magic, which he used to create Inferi, corrupt the souls of others, and even prolong his life unnaturally.”_

Without pause, Dumbledore handed him another book and pointed out another passage to read. “ _Ekrizdis was one of the most ruthless wizards of the Fifteenth Century. For years he inhabited the Fortress of Azkhaban, which was later converted into a prison. However, during his life, Ekrizdis ruled the island of Dementers, using his powerful Soul Magic to bend them to his will. Rumor suggests that the creatures even taught him their darkest Soul Magic ability; to suck out the souls of living beings, a skill Ekrizdis used on many unsuspecting muggle sailors._ ”

Again and again, Dumbledore handed Harry examples or terrible dark witches and wizards who were able to become almost completely unstoppable, because they were skilled at Ancient Magic. The examples were mostly of Soul Magic experts, but occasionally they were highly skilled in Blood Magic or Mind Magic instead, and one even used Elemental Fire Magic.

“Ok,” Harry was pretty sure he was starting to get the picture. “So, you were worried that if Ancient Magic were legal, then another Dark Lord might rise up like Voldemort?”

“Exactly,” Dumbledore smiled. “Except I was not worried that it _might_ happen. You see, it was most assuredly already happening. Harry, are you at all familiar with Gellert Grindelwald?”

“Wasn’t he a dark lord a long time ago, sir? Way back before Voldemort?”

To Harry’s surprise, Dumbledore chuckled. “Well, I’m not sure if I would use the phrase ‘a long time ago.’ But I suppose young people tend to think of anything that happened before they were born as ‘a long time ago.’ Of course, you are correct, he was a skillful Dark Wizard trying to gain power _a long time ago_ in the 1930s and 40s.” Dumbledore let out a sad sigh. “Of course, to me, it sometimes it feels like only yesterday.”

“You defeated him, right sir?” Harry asked. “Your chocolate frog card said that you dueled with him and you won. Did he use Ancient Magic?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Well, I’m glad to see your Hogwarts education has served you well if you learned about an important historical event from a chocolate frog card.” Despite his reprimanding words, Dumbledore seemed highly amused by Harry’s source of information.

The man slowly began levitating the books back to their original locations as he continued, flagrantly ignoring Madam Pince’s rules. “Yes, Grindelwald was skilled in a few branches of Ancient Magic. He had enough knowledge of Mind Magic and Elemental Magic that he could perform some basic occlumency and legillimancy and some elemental spells. However, his true skill lay in Blood Magic. The man had a natural talent for it, and by the time he was finally stopped, he was capable of drawing vast amounts of power from within him. It made him capable of some incredibly strong wandless magic.”

“Wandless magic?” Harry gaped. “Like the goblins? They said that they do magic without wands.”

“Oh, did they now?” Dumbledore asked. “And when did they say this?”

Before Harry could fumble for an answer, Irma Pince was back with a vengeance. “My alarm went off!” she shouted. “Someone’s been levitating books. It’s against the rules.”

“Goodness gracious!” Dumbledore looked scandalized. “Levitating books? In violation of the rules? Hmm, I’m afraid I didn’t see any students levitating books here. How about you, Harry, did you see any students levitating books?”

Harry looked down at the stack of books Dumbledore had been levitating only seconds ago. “Er…no?”

“Well there you go, Irma. Harry says he didn’t see any students committing this heinous crime. So, I suppose that leaves us with something of a mystery. I can assure you, though, that I will certainly keep our eyes peeled for anyone who may breaking this rule. If I _see_ anyone doing this, I shall let you know immediately.”

The librarian gave Harry a suspicious glare, but didn’t have any proof that he was up to trouble, so she stomped away with one last calculating look.

A minute or two passed in silence before Dumbledore spoke again. “Is she gone?”

Harry peaked out of the gated entrance to the Restricted Section. It was now past curfew for the younger students, so there were only a few sixth- and seventh-years left, trying to make last minute revisions to their assignments. Most of them kept sneaking suspicious looks toward the Restricted Section, as if they were trying to figure out what Harry and Dumbledore were doing in there. Madam Pince had returned to her desk near the front entrance. She seemed to be running some diagnostic charms, probably on her ‘levitating book’ alarm to see if it was working.

“I think the coast is clear,” Harry said. He was starting to feel a little like a co-conspirator, especially when Dumbledore immediately started levitating the rest of the books back to their original places on the shelves. “Why don’t you just carry them back by hand, sir?” Harry asked, clutching the one remaining book in his arms.

The other books were spiraling and dancing through the musty air in an almost synchronized fashion. It was rather amazing to watch. “I’m an old man, Harry. I can’t be bothered to carry around heavy stacks of books. Besides, you’ll have to forgive my pride, but my skill level is ever so slightly higher than your average student, and I think I can be trusted not to drop items I’m trying to levitate.” As if to drive home this point, Dumbledore flicked his wand and the last few flying books dove into a spectacular spiral before souring to their final resting place.

“What in Merlin’s name is going on?” Harry could hear Madam Pince grousing from the other end of the library. He quickly turned to peak out the gate again.

“She’s coming back,” he warned.

Dumbledore had already tucked his wand away. Harry noticed that the man seemed to wince a little when his blackened hand brushed against his robe and he thought Harry wasn’t looking. Was it bothering him more than he let on? Harry wondered if Dumbledore’s resistance to carry the books had less to do with his old age, and more to do with his withered hand.

Before Madam Pince stormed in, the headmaster sidled up next to Harry and whispered with his voice full of mischief. “I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.”

Harry didn’t bother asking what ‘secret’ Dumbledore was referring to. The man had obviously figured out what Harry had been up to that weekend. He wasn’t really sure why he ever thought he might be able to hide it from his seemingly omniscient headmaster.

When Pince asked if they were sure they hadn’t seen any students levitating books, Harry clutched the one remaining tome like a lifeline. Dumbledore insisted that he hadn’t even seen other students besides Harry, and that he could assure her that he was making sure Harry wasn’t levitating any books. Harry chose to keep his mouth shut. Recent experiences had confirmed that he was terrible at this sort of thing.

Harry didn’t open his mouth until he and Dumbledore were alone again. “You know, I’m beginning to think you’re a terrible role-model, sir,” Harry teased. “It’s no wonder I have such a disregard for the rules.”

“Every rule has exceptions, my dear boy,” Dumbledore explained. “I would like to think that in a reasonable society, we should be able to make reasonable judgements about what we can and should reasonably do. It is terribly unfortunate that neither society, nor the people living in it, can be counted on to be reasonable.”

“Is that why you made Ancient Magic illegal?”

“I made Ancient Magic illegal because I watched two nearly unstoppable Dark Lords rise to power in my lifetime and I didn’t want to see a third.” Dumbledore hopped up onto the desk where the books had been and sat quite primly. Despite being an ‘old man,’ he was quite spry. “I made exceptions to that law because I am a reasonable person. Most Aurors are allowed to learn some Ancient Magic for defense, whether it be occlumency or some basic wandless magic. Many healers learn some basic Blood Magic for healing. Obviously, creature magic is exempt, since most magical creatures use some form of Ancient Magic.”

“Why didn’t you make an exception for holiday rituals and things like that, sir?” Harry was almost bursting with questions.

“As it happens, I did try to.” Dumbledore’s legs were swinging in a carefree manner. “Oh goodness, yes. There was a bill about it in the Wizengamot several years ago. I can’t quite remember who brought it up, but I did vote in favor of it. I’m afraid it was still voted down by some of the other Light Wizards. They didn’t seem to think that old-fashioned rituals were worth making an exception over.”

Dumbledore leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, though, Harry. I know for a fact that many of the old families still perform those rituals in secret.”

“Light families or Dark families?”

“Both, I would assume. I want you to understand, Harry, that I was certainly never trying to ruin anyone’s holiday plans. I have seen many terrible tragedies in my lifetime. My goal was only the lessen the number that the next generation would have to endure.” After a moment of silence, Dumbledore asked. “Did you have any other questions, my dear boy?”

Harry looked down at the book in his hands. He had ended up back with ‘Fifteenth Century Fiends’ again. Dumbledore did have a point that almost all the fiends had been involved in Ancient Magic in some way. “Did Voldemort use Ancient Magic?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore confirmed without hesitation. “He obviously has some impressive skill with Lellimancy and wandless magic. However, his specialty was always Soul Magic. I know he created many inferi, and I have strong reason to suspect that he engaged in some of the darkest and most corrupting Soul Magic there is.”

Harry allowed the book in his hands to fall open. It landed on an etching of Ekrizdis, the man who had lived with dementors and even sucked out people’s souls. The picture of him just showed a shadowy figure in a black cloak. “I understand why you would want to pass that law, sir. But why make _every_ type of Ancient Magic illegal? Why not just make Soul Magic illegal? Or Blood Magic? Or just the really powerful kind?”

“That’s an excellent question, Harry.” Dumbledore looked quite proud, despite the fact that Harry continued to question him. “You see, most people have a certain inclination to be better at one type of Ancient Magic, and that type will come more easily to them.” Harry nodded, that was basically what Malfoy had said. “So, let’s say that a young student decides to study Elemental Magic. However, they realize in their studies, that they have a natural inclination toward Blood Magic. Because they already began studying Ancient Magic, in one form, Blood Magic will come to them much more naturally. However, if they had never studied Ancient Magic at all, those skills would never have become unlocked, and they would never risk hurting themselves or others.”

Harry was just about to speak when Madam Pince appeared in the gateway again. “The library’s closing. It’s almost curfew.” She glanced at the book in Harry’s hand. “Are you checking out that book? You’ll need a note with the title of the book if you are.”

“We’re not taking any books tonight, Irma,” Dumbledore assured her. “Don’t worry, my good woman, we’ll be out of your hair in just a moment. How about you begin shutting things down while Harry and I pack up here?”

Once again, Dumbledore waited until the librarian was out of view before he began to levitate the book in Harry’s arms back toward the shelf. “You’re shameless,” Harry tried not to laugh. “Anyway, I guess I’m still not sure why _all_ Ancient Magic had to be illegal. I mean, I know you made a few exceptions, but it still seems really limiting. Maybe I just don’t understand.”

“Or far more likely,” Dumbledore countered, “You understand perfectly. You simply don’t agree.” Dumbledore led him back through the library as Madam Pince was turning down the lights. It seemed they were the only ones left.

“So, you think I’m wrong?”

“Not at all, my dear boy. You see, not every situation has a right and a wrong answer.” Dumbledore opened the library door for him. “It’s entirely possible that we’re both wrong. Or, and this is a wondrous thing indeed, we could both be right! It’s all a matter of perspective.”

“If you say so, sir.” Harry was still reeling when they left the library side by side. The halls were silent. All the students must have returned to their rooms. “I do understand why you did what you did. I’m just not sure if I would have done the same thing.”

 “Well, Harry,” Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder as they walked together. “One day, you will be able to join the Wizengamot yourself. And you will be able to make the changes you feel are right. I must say, I’m very excited that you’re taking this responsibility seriously. And I dearly hope, for your sake, that the laws you pass will inspire the changes that you wish to see.”

Harry nodded silently, as they made their way past the gargoyle and up the stairs to the headmaster’s office.

“In the meantime, Harry, I promise you that I will not use your proxy vote to push through any other legislation about Ancient Magic.  It was always my intention to use that vote in a way the Potter family would approve of. If you don’t agree with me on this issue, then I will not use your vote for this issue. It’s as simple as that.”

“Really?”

Dumbledore nodded and pushed open the doorway to the familiar space. “In return, however, I would like you to promise me that you will not go wandering outside of school grounds again, without any supervision. There are a lot of witches and wizards who are trying very hard to keep you safe here, my boy. Sneaking off with your friend, without alerting anyone, was not a good way to repay them.”

“Yes, sir. I understand. I promise I won’t go sneaking off again.”

“Wonderful!” Dumbledore clapped his hands and returned to his place behind his desk. “Now, I’m afraid that little field trip took up most of our evening. And yet, alas, we still have much to discuss. I believe you wanted to know about the Werewolf Dark Creature Bill? And perhaps even sign over another vote to help our cause?”

“The bill!” Harry cried. “I almost forgot about that.”

“Indeed. And, of course, we still have a memory to peruse.”

“Whose memory are we looking at tonight, sir?”

“Why, my own memory, Harry. The memory of the day I met a young man at a poor orphanage.”


	14. Making Enemies

When Remus Lupin arrived at the Ministry of Magic on Tuesday evening, he was not at all impressed with his treatment by the security wizard.

“You say your name is Remus Lupin?” The Watchwizard asked as he placed Remus’s wand into his wand-weighing device.

“Yes, that’s what the nametag says.” Remus checked his pocket watch again. The voting may have already started, and he desperately needed to know the results. If werewolves were relabeled as Dark creatures, it wouldn’t just affect him, it would affect the entire landscape of the war.

“Well, I’m afraid that name has a ‘security risk’ warning attached to it.” The man explained, purposely holding Remus’s wand out of his reach.

“Security risk? How am I a security risk?”

“It says here that there’s a werewolf registered under that name. Is that you?” The wizard looked fairly skeptical as he gave Remus a second prod with his probity probe.

Remus resisted the urge to sigh, and simply gave the security wizard an affable smile. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Are you sure?” He looked Remus up and down. “You don’t really look like a Dark creature.”

Before Remus could answer, an affronted voice came from his right. “Werewolves aren’t Dark creatures.” He turned to see Nymphadora Tonks in all her bubblegum pink glory. “At least not yet. I suppose tonight’s the night we get a final confirmation.” She winked at Remus before turning to the Watchwizard. “Give him his wand back, Eric. I’ll escort him where he wants to go, so you don’t need to worry about any ‘security risk.’”

“Well, I suppose if he’s with an Auror…”

Before the man could change his mind, Remus swiped his wand back and quickly followed Dora out of the Atrium. “Thanks for getting me out of that nonsense.”

She flashed him a playful smile. “Hopefully, after this ridiculous bill is shot down, you won’t have to deal with quite as much nonsense.”

“We can only hope.”

They took the elevator down to the bottom floor, and she led him down several corridors until they reached the outside of the main Chambers of the Wizengamot. He could hear arguing coming from inside, but outside the heavy doors, a familiar face was waiting for them. “Oh good, you’re both here, they’re about to vote any minute now.”

The woman had dark hair and eyes, but her severe features were offset by her kind expression. Dora gave her a quick hug. “Remus, you remember my mum, Andromeda?”

“Of course, Mrs. Tonks, always a pleasure. But I must say, I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

Andromeda Tonks motioned them toward a small door to the right on the main Chamber entryway. “Nymphadora asked me to stop by to help explain the voting. I think her experience with the Ministry is more limited to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I’ll admit, I’m quite out of practice when it comes to pureblood politics, but it’s not for nothing that I was raised as a Black.” Once they were through the door, she motioned them up a narrow, winding staircase. “At the very least, I remember how to get to the viewing balcony. From up here we’ll be able to see and hear everything that happens down on the Chamber floor. And it’s enchanted so they can’t hear us.”

When they arrived in the viewing section, they realized it was already mostly full. There were several reporters taking diligent notes. There were people who looked like assistants and secretaries. However, the main reason it felt so overly full, was because the figure of Rubeus Hagrid seemed to fill up any space he occupied. Remus was surprised the man had managed to squeeze up the stairs. “Hagrid, I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Wouldna missed it fer nothing.” Hagrid motioned them toward a seat near him. Some of the reporters shot him dirty looks, since it was probably hard for them to hear the current speaker over Hagrid’s gruff voice. “It’s a bloody outrage they’re even debatin’ somethin’ like this. Firs’ it’s werewolves, then who knows? Are they gonna start callin’ giants Dark creatures? Or goblins? It’s bad enough they gave that label to perfectly harmless animals, like acramantula, or manticores, or mountain trolls.”

“Are there manticores that are harmless?” asked Dora.

“Since when are mountain trolls harmless?” asked her mother.

“My goodness, Hagrid,” Remus interrupted. “Your NEWT-level Care of Magical Creatures class must be very…exciting.”

“Well it woulda been, if anyone had bothered ter sign up,” Hagrid frowned. Remus let out a sign of relief for all the lucky students who wouldn’t be exposed to ‘perfectly harmless animals.’

“Excuse me,” interrupted a woman with ashy brown hair. “Please keep it down. Some of us actually came up to the observation balcony to _observe_.” She looked like a reporter, and Remus quickly apologized on behalf of his party.

When the werewolf finally turned his attention to the main floor and the sea of purple robes, he instantly regretted it. The woman speaking had the most irritatingly saccharine voice, that it was almost like listening to the squeaky wheel of a broken trolley cart. “Galloping gargoyles, who on earth is that?” he whispered with care.

Andromeda frowned as she also listened to the short woman drone on about half-breeds and dangerous creatures. “She doesn’t look familiar to me. She must not be from any of the old families.”

“Tha’s Umbridge,” Hagrid practically growled. The ashy haired woman quickly shushed him again. “Sorry,” his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. He could still probably be heard by everyone on the balcony, but at least he didn’t completely drown out the woman below. “As I said, tha’s Umbridge. She worked for Fudge. She’s the one who gave ‘Arry such a hard time las’ year. Tried to get Dumbledore sacked, too. Wouldna be able to think of one nice thing ter say abou’ her if me life depended on it.”

“So that’s the High Inquisitor,” breathed Remus, as he looked at the nasty piece of work who had spent a year _not teaching_ Defense Against the Dark Arts. “What else did we miss?”

“Well,” explained Hagrid. “Apparently they’ve been at this fer weeks now. So tonight they’re all jus’ summin’ up their points before the final vote.”

“That’s typical for important measures,” Andromeda chimed in.

“Only a coupla people really went on and on like this toad, though,” Hagrid continued. “That one –” He pointed to a prim, blonde man on the right side of the room, “Kept talking about keepin’ magical bloodlines separate and preservin’ a traditional way o’ life. Don’t like ‘im at all.”

“That’s Lord Peneus Greengrass,” Andromeda explained. “With Lucius Malfoy and the Lestrange brothers in prison, and the Black family all but gone, the Greengrasses are probably the most prominent Dark family left in the Wizengamot. He’s trouble, but at least he’s not a Death Eater.”

“And tha’ one –” This time Hagrid pointed at a suave brunette over on the left side of the room, “Kept talkin’ about how dangerous Greyback was. He kept mentionin’ different attacks the werewolves ‘ave made on You-Know-Who’s orders. He kept callin’ werewolves ‘the tools of evil.’ That can’t be good, neither.”

“That’s Tiberius McLaggen,” Andromeda continued her helpful commentary. “He’s a Light wizard, but he’s always had the personality of a fermented flubberworm. I think he holds a lot of sway with the other Light wizards, though, I’m afraid.”

“Not as much as Dumbledore,” Dora insisted, determined to be hopeful.

When the Umbridge woman finally ended her sickening little speech, Albus Dumbledore banged his gavel from his prominent position in the center of the assembly. “Thank you, Dolores, that was illuminating as always.” From the older man’s gentle expression, one might never guess that he held Umbridge in anything but the highest regard. Dumbledore would probably be polite and patient with a boggart he found in his closet. “Now that everyone has had a chance to speak up, I think it’s time we move on to the most important part. Everyone in favor of reclassifying werewolves as Dark creatures, with all the legal restrictions thereof, please raise your hand now.”

A lot of people raised their hands, including the majority of the right side of the room where Lord Greengrass sat. The middle section, around Dumbledore, was more of a mixed bag. However, most of the wizards and witches on the left, kept their hands down. The main exception being Lord McLaggen and a group of wizards and witches sitting near him, who all raised their hands with an angry determination.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore smiled. “And now, everyone against this bill, who would like to keep werewolves classified as they are, please raise your hands.” Dumbledore himself raised his good hand while he counted the others who joined him. Most of the left hand side of the room voted with him, much to McLaggen’s obvious annoyance. Remus recognized Frank Longbottom’s mother voting with Dumbledore, along with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Elphias Doge, but he didn’t know many other faces.

“Wonderful!” Dumbledore gave his gavel one more loud tap for good measure. “It seems the ‘nays’ have it, so as of now, werewolves will remain as they…”

“Hold your hippogriffs, Chief Warlock!” It was Lord McLaggen who spoke up. “You’re not the only one who can count. It was a tie, and a tie means that it goes back to the Special Committee for Magical Creatures.”

“Ah, of course,” Dumbledore’s smile didn’t falter for a moment. “You’re quite right, Tiberius. The bill would return to the Special Committee…if the vote had been a tie. But I’m afraid you may have miscounted.”

“Hem hem.” Remus took a moment to figure out where that awful little cough had come from, but then he realized that Umbridge was speaking again. “I believe Lord McLaggen if correct, Dumbledore. Even with that ridiculous Proxy vote you coerced out of Potter, the votes are even. 45 to 45.”

“Ah, yes, I think I see the confusion, Dolores.” Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling in that way they did when he knew something that someone else didn’t, which was the vast majority of the time. “You see, I no longer have one Proxy vote that I can use as I see fit. I now have two.”

The uproar that followed this announcement was only slightly drowned out when the Chief Warlock flicked his wand and sent several documents toward several outraged politicians. Lord Greengrass, Lord McLaggen, and Secretary Umbridge were all among the assembled parties who received a copy of whatever paperwork Dumbledore had produced. A couple bundles of parchment also floated their way up to the balcony. Remus noticed that the woman with the ashy brown hair managed to snag a copy.

“The Black vote!” shouted Lord Greengrass. “The Blacks are one of the most distinguished Dark families in Britain. How dare you use the Black vote to push through your infernal Light agenda!”

Remus wondered how Dumbledore had managed to secure Sirius’s old vote, but that question was quickly answered.

“Potter!” Umbridge looked almost apoplectic. “How is Potter the Black family heir? That shouldn’t even be possible.”

“My goodness, Chief Warlock,” Lord McLaggen was much calmer, but he certainly didn’t look pleased. “What exactly goes on at that school of yours? Do you provide lessons, or do you simply ask the students to hand over their wands to you upon entry? Merlin knows there’s no reason to teach them anything, when you’re obviously more comfortable doing their thinking for them.”

The reporters and assistants were scribbling like mad. This was probably more excitement than they had expected.

Dumbledore didn’t show one ounce of offence. “I can assure you, Tiberius, that Harry offered his other Proxy vote completely of his own volition. In fact, he was the one who suggested it to me. And now, with all that cleared up, I officially announce the bill failed.” He banged his gavel one last time. “Werewolves will remain as half-breeds. They are _not_ Dark creatures. At least, not today.”

Once again, the assembly burst into chaos.

***

On Wednesday morning, Harry was thrilled to read about the Wizengamot verdict in Hermione’s copy of the Daily Prophet. He almost snorted his pumpkin juice when he got to Dumbledore’s dramatic reveal that he had yet another Proxy vote. Harry wished he could have seen the look on Umbridge’s face when Dumbledore told her that she had lost, all thanks to Harry Potter. Perhaps he’d ask Professor Dumbledore to show him that memory in the pensive the next time they had a lesson.

Harry was feeling quite confident that nothing would be able to dampen his day, until he arrived at Potions just in time to have a copy of the Daily Prophet shoved in his face. As the little black and white photo of the Wizengamot passed about an inch from his nose, an indignant voice followed. “You gave him another vote!?”

“What?” Harry tried to take a step back from the violently shaking newspaper.

Suddenly, the issue was snatched away, and instead, Harry’s vision was filled with a very irate Draco Malfoy. “You gave him another Proxy vote? Are you insane? You finally take an Inheritance Test and you finally learn about your family and legacy and all the things that have been kept from you….and what’s the first thing you do? You give away even more power to the man who’s trying to make Inheritance Tests illegal.”

“He’s not trying to make Inheritance Tests illegal.”

“He made Ancient Magic illegal!” Malfoy was almost shaking, and Harry was surprised the Slytherin had even come over to talk to him. The last couple days, it seemed as though Malfoy was avoiding him like the plague. It was as if the dam had burst.

Before Harry had a chance to defend his decision, Slughorn called them all to get into pairs again. Harry didn’t even think about what he was doing, he just pulled Malfoy over to his cauldron so they could continue their argument in peace. “Look, I don’t really agree with him on the whole Ancient Magic thing, but I really didn’t want werewolves to be labeled as Dark creatures. I’d do anything to prevent that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Malfoy lowered his voice while Slughorn wrote their assignment on the board. “You handed over the Black family vote to Albus Dumbledore, because you were trying to promote the rights of werewolves? Werewolves!?”

“Yeah.” It all seemed so reasonable to Harry.

“Why would you possibly do that? Who cares about werewolves?”

“Boys,” Professor Slughorn interrupted them. “I’m sure whatever you’re discussing must seem awfully important, but you only have a couple hours left to brew the Strengthening Solution, and believe me, you’re going to need all the time you can get.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry blushed when he realized everyone was staring at them.

“Of course, sir.” Malfoy just sneered at the onlookers.

Harry then remembered that Slughorn had asked them to get into pairs and Harry had been so focused on arguing with Malfoy, he’d completely forgotten to grab a partner. He turned to see Ron standing by Hermione. She was giving Harry a very confused look, and Ron looked fraught with worry, as though he thought Harry might be ill. He then turned toward Ernie, who had partnered with him last week, only to find Ernie standing with the Ravenclaw girl who had partnered with Malfoy.

That’s when it hit him. There was only one person left to partner with, a person that Harry had dragged over to his cauldron right as Slughorn was asking them to pair up. What had he done?

“I’ll get the water boiling.” Malfoy interrupted his panicking thoughts. “You go get the ingredients.”

“Oh, er, ok, I guess.” Apparently this was happening. Harry supposed he would just have to make the best of it. Malfoy was quite good at potions, and the two of them had been getting on alright, even if this whole situation felt surreal. After all, they had run off to Gringotts together, surely, they could brew a potion together. It just felt different with the rest of the class watching them, giving them confused and angry looks.

On his way to the ingredient’s cupboard, Blaise Zabini made a point of almost knocking Harry over, as he came from the other direction. “Stay out of my way, Potter,” he snarled.

“Oi, you’re the one who ran into me!”

Without another word, Zabini gave him a glare that would have made Aunt Petunia proud, and then swept away. Harry wasn’t sure what was going on, apparently by ending his rivalry with one Slytherin he had made enemies with another.

While he tried to scoop up all the necessary ingredients, he was interrupted again. This time by the professor himself. “Harry, my boy! Have a fine weekend, did you? Get some fresh air, I take it?”

Harry instantly paled. Did he know? Dumbledore said he had spoken with Slughorn on Monday; asked him about his whereabouts during the Gringotts attack. Apparently, Snape had insisted that he’d seen Slughorn at the Leaky Cauldron. Despite Slughorn’s ridiculous personality, the man was supposed to be rather clever. He could probably put two and two together.

“Why Harry, do you know I received the nicest gift this morning? Elven-made mead from one Peneus Greengrass. He sends his regards and wants me to know that it was lovely catching up on Saturday.” Harry kept his mouth shut, because what could he really say? Slughorn then leaned in and winked conspiratorially. “Twenty points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for having such fine taste. Perhaps I’ll share a glass with you if I actually manage to get you to come to one of my dinners.”

“Er, I should really get back to brewing this potion, sir.”

“Of course, my boy, of course. Oh, and Randall,” he called towards Ron. The redhead looked up from his work station, confused and a little nervous. Slughorn almost never addressed his directly, and that was probably the closest he’d gotten to Ron’s actual name. “Good job chopping those lacewings. Five points to Gryffindor for you, as well.”

Ron’s mouth fell open. “Oh, thanks sir!” He then proceeded to smash one the wings while he wasn’t paying attention. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled and quickly tried to salvage the situation before Hermione noticed.

Harry wasn’t sure what Slughorn had done that for. He could see why the Potion’s professor would give Harry points, since Slughorn had scored free wine because of him. But why Ron? Why not Malfoy? But the answer was obvious, wasn’t it? The whole time Harry was in Diagon Alley on Saturday, Ron had been ‘missing’ as well. And everyone knew Ron was Harry’s very best friend. Slughorn probably assumed that Harry had gone with him. Hell, Dumbledore probably made the same assumption. He hadn’t said a single word about Harry traipsing off with Malfoy, he had given Harry a hard time for leaving the school grounds with his ‘friend.’ Who would possibly assume that Harry Potter would willingly go anywhere with Draco Malfoy?

“Took you long enough,” Malfoy complained when Harry returned.

Harry spent most of the class distracted, but Malfoy fortunately seemed more focused and determined than ever.

***

The next day, they had Defense with Snape. Harry hadn’t spoken to the dour man since Monday when Dumbledore had returned to the school; the day he supposedly questioned the professor about the events of the weekend. If there was any doubt at all as to whether or not Snape had also figured out what Harry had been up to, it was cleared up during that class.

On the board were the incantations for a fire shield and a water shield, along with the relevant theory behind each one.

“The fire shield will protect you from powerful ice charms,” Snape lectured. “Because fire is a natural deterrent to ice, a fire shield will be much more effective than a typical _Protego_ shield spell. The water shield will obviously protect you from fire.”

As soon as they’d finished their notes, Snape set them into pairs to start practicing the two shields. Harry was excited, these sounded like some of the coolest spells they’d learned so far that year. “Not so fast, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley.” Snape had sidled up beside him and Ron. His expression was deadly. “You two will be spending the next hour making progress on your bonus assignment.”

“What bonus assignment?” Ron asked, because apparently, he had a death wish.

“You two are each going to write me a 4 foot long essay on why the best method for defense is: to stay in a warded location where your safety is almost guaranteed. Be sure your essays include why it is profoundly stupid to go wondering off on your own, without telling anyone where you’re going, and with absolutely no plan as to how to defend yourself should you be found out.”

“Why do have to write a stupid essay when no one else does?” Ron couldn’t be stopped, no matter how fervently Harry shook his head.

“Twenty-five points from Gryffindor for asking a question you already know the answer to.” Well there went all the points Slughorn had given them. “If you ask me one more inane question, I swear I will give the both of you detention every Saturday from now until the end of the year. The _only_ reason I haven’t done so already is that I have better things to do with my own time. Of course, even if I were condemned to your insufferable presence every weekend, _at least I would know where you two dunderheads are_.”

Then he swept away leaving Harry and Ron to work on the world’s most boring essay, while everyone else in the class dashed around the room, shooting off fire spells and dousing each other with water.

With so much activity, it was easy to talk without Snape swooping down on them. “He knows I was the one who went to Gringotts this weekend,” Harry whispered, by way of explanation. “He thinks you were the one who went with me.”

“And now we’re stuck here while everyone else gets to mess around.” Ron pulled out his parchment and quill. On the other side of the room, Seamus Finnegan managed to cause a small explosion of fire, while Dean Thomas sprayed him down with a stream of water. “This is so unfair!” Ron complained. “I really hope that Inheritance Test was worth it, mate.”

“I certainly learned a lot this weekend.”

Harry tried to concentrate of the blank parchment in front of him, but it was so hard when Lavender and Parvati where running around the perimeter of the room shooting off sparklers and sizzling them out with messy water shields. Their shields were so flimsy they splashed water everywhere, even onto Harry’s parchment. “Hey, watch where you’re splashing!”

“Sorry Harry,” Parvati called, and to Harry’s surprise, she winked at him.

Meanwhile, Lavender was apologizing to Ron, even though his parchment was perfectly dry. That was until Hermione doused her with a blast of water like the spray of an elephant. “Oh, whoops! So sorry, Lavender, didn’t see you there.”

“Why you –“ And she was off, trying to light the hem of Hermione’s robes of fire, but Hermione was much more adept at water shields than Lavender was.

 “Look at him,” Ron grumbled, referring to Snape. The professor was standing to the side with a bored expression, doing nothing to quell the excitement that had erupted around the room. “He’s doing this on purpose. That bastard has never allowed one smidgeon of fun in any class he’s ever taught. Now, suddenly it’s a bloody free for all.”

Harry looked up from his essay. He had only written a few lines so far. He was still distracted thinking about the things he had learned that weekend, particularly from Malfoy pretending to be Slughorn. “Hey Ron, I think I’m going to go to Slughorn’s dinner tomorrow night.”

“What? But we have Quidditch practice tomorrow night.”

“We only have Quidditch practice because I specifically scheduled it that day, to get out of dinner.”  Harry tried not to laugh when Crabbe lit his own sleeve on fire, and Goyle tried to put in out by tackling him. “I can just move practice to Saturday. That would probably work better for everyone anyway.”

“Why would you even want to go to Slughorn’s dinner?” Ron hadn’t even written a single sentence, he was thoroughly distracted by the commotion around them. “I mean I get why Hermione would go, she’s the type of nutter who would actually enjoy socializing with a teacher. But Slughorn’s just going to spend the whole meal trying to get you to talk about the Prophecy and the Department of Mysteries. It sounds like your worst nightmare.”

“Maybe,” Harry conceded. “But I realized this weekend that Malfoy knows just about every wizard and witch working in politics. If I want to get more involved in this political stuff, I need to meet more people. Or at least learn who these bloody people are. It’s like you and your money management thing. You weren’t born with a vault waiting for you, so you have to learn how to make your own money. Well, I wasn’t born into the wizarding world, so I need to try and find a way to learn who these people are.”

“If you say so,” Ron shrugged.

They lapsed into silence, while they pretended to work on their essays, but really just watched the duels around them.

From the sideline, Harry could see Zabini trying very hard to set Malfoy’s hair on fire, while Malfoy screamed at him and cast water shield after water shield. However, when Nott tried to blast a fireball at Malfoy while his back was turned, Zabini immediately cast a water shield of his own, to protect his ex-friend. Apparently Zabini was angry enough to ruin Malfoy’s hair, but not angry enough to let Nott seriously burn him.

Meanwhile, Pansy Parkinson was dueling the blonde girl Harry recognized as Daphne Greengrass. They were both trying very hard to make it look like they were giving the assignment their full effort, while also being careful not to muss up their hair or their uniforms.

“You know what, Harry,” Ron spoke up again all of a sudden. “I think you might actually have a point. You should go to that dinner. Most of the people involved in all that pureblood political stuff are bloody bastards. They need more people like you.” Ron was ignoring the drama around them and giving Harry a conspiratorial look. “Besides, if you and Hermione are off, that will give me more time to read my book. I’ve already finished Chapter Three. Now I know the best strategies for getting out of debt.”

“Are you in debt?” Harry asked.

“No, but if I ever do get into debt, I’ll know how to get out.”

“Huh. Have you gotten to the part of the book where it talks about how to not get into debt to begin with?”

“Not yet, but I’ll definitely keep an eye out.”

They spent the rest of the lesson trying to finish their essays while being far too distracted with the chaos around them. About halfway through the period, the ‘defense practice’ devolved into a full on water/fire fight between the different houses. Gryffindor had a serious handicap with both Harry and Ron out of commission, but Hermione and Neville really held their own.

Before they left, Snape took ten more points from Gryffindor because Harry and Ron barely made any progress. Plus, Harry’s essay was soggy, while Ron’s was singed. Overall, Harry felt they got off easy.

***

The rest of the week was fairly uneventful. On Friday morning, while Hermione was in Arithmancy, Ron proudly announced to Harry that the twins had written back. Ron was now a co-investor in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Harry was glad that the letter he had secretly sent to Fred and George was taken seriously. It wasn’t as though they really needed Ron’s ten galleons.

At one point, Malfoy did finally lose patience and demand to know what Harry had learned during his Inheritance Test. Harry admitted that he was distantly related to the Longbottoms, and Malfoy immediately lost interest. “I just assumed you’d be related to Merlin or someone like that, with your luck,” Malfoy admitted.

Harry just shrugged. After the goblin’s sobering warning, he wasn’t going to tell anyone he was related to Godric Gryffindor until he at least had some idea what that meant.

By the time Slughorn’s dinner arrived, Harry was almost excited. However, the dinner itself wasn’t nearly as informative as he thought it might be. There weren’t any famous witches or wizards, just the students Slughorn thought were ‘interesting.’ Although, Slughorn told them that his Yuletide party would be a Who’s Who of influential people in Wizarding Britain, and they were all invited.

While the food was higher quality than the usual Hogwarts fare, the conversation left something to be desired. Hermione made a point to discuss Potions Theory, something Harry knew nothing about. It was very awkward because Slughorn seemed to expect that Harry knew all about it, thanks to his help from the Half-Blood Prince. Fortunately, the professor brushed it off as Harry not wanting to ‘talk shop’ during a social dinner.

Cormac McLaggen, the seventh year Gryffindor who had vied for the Keeper position against Ron, was even more insufferable. He kept chatting with Harry as though they ought to be best mates, just because they were both Slughorn’s favorites. The only thing that helped Harry get through the meal was Ginny making ridiculous faces behind McLaggen’s back every time he talked about “my uncle on the Wizengamot” or “my luncheon with Minister Scrimgeour.”

At one point, McLaggen prattled on about how Harry really ought to meet the new minister. “He’s such a decisive figure, really knows how to lead the Ministry. I’m sure my uncle could introduce the two of you, if you’d like.” Ginny finally lost patience and Harry noticed her slip a candy into McLaggen’s chocolate parfait. A couple minutes later, his nose started bleeding so profusely he had to excuse himself to run to Madam Pomfrey. Harry was not sad to see the back of him, and he sent Ginny a grateful smile.

Harry thought the night couldn’t get any worse, until he slipped away to use the loo, and suddenly found himself cornered by Blaise Zabini, who must have slipped away after him. “Potter.” The Slytherin said Harry’s name like a curse word.

“Zabini.” Harry looked around the empty restroom and realized no help was coming. “What do you want?”

“I noticed you’re spending an awful lot of time with Draco. Even though, in theory, you two don’t have anything in common.”

The dark-skinned young man was at least a head taller than Harry, but he was never one to back down from a challenge. “I can spend my time with whoever I like, Zabini. It’s really none of your business.”

The Slytherin narrowed his eyes. “Is this the part where you insist that you and Draco are just friends?”

“We’re not friends,” Harry replied automatically. “We’re…” but he paused. Were they friends? They weren’t enemies, but ‘friends’ sounded too weird.

“I thought so!” Zabini snapped, as if he’d just gotten Harry to confess to something. “I never understood why he was so obsessed with you. What do you have that I don’t have? I mean, you’re short, your hair’s a mess, and you dress like a blind house elf.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Harry felt this conversation was getting away from him. Zabini was obviously upset that Malfoy was spending so much time with Harry, but why did it matter how Harry dressed?

“Well fine, if he wants to play with fire and get himself burnt, I can’t exactly stop him.” Zabini was ranting now. “But I swear on the grave of Salazar Slytherin, if you hurt him, Potter, I will kill you myself.”

“I don’t just go around hurting people!” Who did Zabini think he was? Harry wasn’t the bad guy in this situation. “Besides, what do you care about Malfoy getting hurt? I thought you were mad at him? I thought you two weren’t speaking anymore?”

“You don’t understand anything, Potter!” Zabini may have had a point there. “You know what, I don’t know why I even bothered trying to talk to you. You’re a waste of my time.” Then Zabini turned up his nose and gave such a condescending look, it reminded Harry quite a bit of Malfoy himself. “Besides, I know I’m better than you, and if Draco can’t see that, then that’s his loss.”

Without another word, Zabini glided from the room with a grace that would have made Madam Longbottom proud. The whole thing left Harry feeling empty and unsure.

Harry couldn’t figure out why Zabini was suddenly so against him. Harry had always had issues with Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, even Nott. Zabini was really the only sixth year Slytherin boy who hadn’t hated him on principal. Yet now, Zabini was treating Harry like he was an insect he’d very much like to squash.

“Bloody hell, I really don’t understand Slytherin dynamics.”

***

_When Lord Voldemort opened his eyes, he found himself looking up at a starry night sky. It took only a moment to realize that it was not the sky itself, but in fact, the ceiling of the Great Hall of Hogwarts, reflecting the stars beyond. It had been a long time since he had stood beneath the magical ceiling or the floating candlelight. He wasn’t sure why his dreams kept returning him to Hogwarts. Probably because it was the one place he and Harry had in common; the most convenient place for them to meet in their shared dreamscape._

_He had only been in this dream a few minutes, but already his mind felt more at ease. There was a sense of calm in his dreams with Harry; a peace he never felt while awake. Perhaps when all his horcruxes were finally returned to him again, he would feel this way all the time. His magic and his mood had already stabilized somewhat from having the cup and the diadem close by, along with his precious snake._

_As for his current situation, the Dark Lord decided to make himself comfortable. He strolled over to the Slytherin table and sat down in the seat that had once been his. He wasn’t sure why he gravitated there; probably out of habit. But he really could have sat anywhere since he was entirely alone._

_That was, until Harry arrived. Harry also took a moment to marvel at the brilliant stars before his attention was quickly drawn to the only other figure in the room. And then Harry Potter looked right at him. Lord Voldemort didn’t say anything from his seat at the far right. He simply gave a smile that he knew from years of experience came across to others as charming and endearing. Not to Harry, apparently._

_The young men narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and immediately walked over to the opposite side of the room to sit at the Gryffindor table. Lord Voldemort sighed. The boy was being difficult for no reason. On the other hand, the Dark Lord had to admit it had been years since he’d played mind games with a worthy opponent._

_Without further ado, the Heir of Slytherin stood up from his rightful place and sauntered over to the table for the brave and chivalrous. Harry watched without a word as the teenaged version of the Dark Lord walked all the way across the room, having to divert around the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Lord Voldemort gave not one indication that he was annoyed, but then, he wasn’t really. In fact, this was almost fun._

_The moment Lord Voldemort sat himself down across from Harry Potter, the boy finally spoke up. “I’m sorry, but this table is reserved for Gryffindors.”_

_Lord Voldemort merely blinked at him. He turned his head one way, toward the empty professor’s table, and all the empty space around the front of the hall. He turned his head the other way, toward the open main door leading to darkness, and the empty dining tables. He turned back to Harry. “I can assure that if any Gryffindors show up and would like to sit here, I will make room for them.”_

_Harry lips twitched at that. He was clearly trying very hard not to smile. “I’m surprised you even deigned to sit here. I figured you’d go sit in Dumbledore’s chair again.”_

_“Dumbledore’s chairs are ostentatious even by my standards. And believe me, that’s saying something. I’ve always had a flare for theatrics.”_

_“Oh, I know.” Again, Harry’s lips quirked just a bit. “I bet you were a magnet for trouble even as a kid.” Then, almost instantly, the Gryffindor’s face became haunted and sad, as though he had just remembered something. “Sorry, that was crass. It must have been hard growing up in that orphanage, where you didn’t have anything of your own. I can’t imagine how intimidating it must have been to come to Hogwarts after that.”_

_“Hogwarts was never intimidating,” Lord Voldemort quickly waved that notion away. “And I think you can imagine exactly what it felt like to finally be here.”_

_Harry inhaled sharply. “Like coming home.”_

_Lord Voldemort nodded, because Harry did understand. He was probably the only one who ever could. Maybe it was because he was Lord Voldemort’s horcrux. Maybe it was because…some other reason._

_“It was still intimidating, though,” Harry continued. “I was so nervous about the sorting. I thought maybe the hat would say there had been a mistake and send me back to the Dursleys. I felt like a complete fraud.”_

_Lord Voldemort frowned at that. “I don’t understand, what were you lying about?”_

_“I wasn’t lying about anything. I just felt like this couldn’t really be real.”_

_“Why would you feel like a fraud unless you were actively lying about something?”_

_“I – ” Harry gaped at him. “Never mind, you obviously wouldn’t understand. You’ve probably never felt insecure in your life. I bet your sorting was just like Malfoy’s. Let me guess, the Sorting Hat barely even touched your head before it shouted ‘Slytherin’?”_

_The Dark Lord actually did laugh at that. He loved laughing at the expense of others. “The Sorting Hat didn’t even fully touch his head before it sent him straight to Slytherin? Of course it did! What else would it have done? That boy doesn’t have one drop of intelligence or loyalty or courage.”_

_Harry looked uncomfortable laughing at young Malfoy’s expense. “I don’t know, he’s been slightly less of a prat lately.”_

_“Indeed?” Lord Voldemort quirked a brow, but Harry only shrugged and kept his mouth shut. “Well, let me assure you, Harry, the hat took much more time considering me. Even at a young age, I had many impressive traits that would have been valued by any house. In fact, I recall that the Sorting Hat told me that I would also do well in Ravenclaw.”_

_Harry was gaping like he couldn’t quite believe the words he was hearing. “The Sorting Hat told you that you would do well in Ravenclaw? It said that to you? Even though you’re obviously a Slytherin? I mean, you’re basically the quintessential Slytherin, but it said you would do well in Ravenclaw?”_

_Lord Voldemort was getting annoyed. Was Harry trying to tease him over such an inconsequential thing? “Well, obviously I belong in Slytherin, since it put me there. But I also have a brilliant mind and a thirst for knowledge, so it considered Ravenclaw. But in the end, it put me in Slytherin.”_

_Harry was staring down at the table, lost in thought, but he looked hopeful. “The hat put me in Gryffindor. So that must be where I belong, no matter what other houses it considered.”_

_Lord Voldemort was instantly intrigued. “What house did the hat suggest for you? No, let me guess. With your sycophantic loyalty to Dumbledore, it must have been Hufflepuff, right?”_

_Harry was only half listening. “I must be a Gryffindor. A real Gryffindor. If you’re a Slytherin, which you obviously are, then I’m just as much a Gryffindor.”_

_The Dark Lord only shrugged. “Well, to be fair, I did help the hat along.”_

_Harry’s looked back up at him. “What do you mean?”_

_Lord Voldemort smiled. He liked having Harry’s attention fully on him. “In the end, I did tell the hat that I would prefer to be in Slytherin. I knew it was where I belonged. The hat finally sent me to Slytherin because I asked it to.”_

_For the first time, Harry smiled. And he wasn’t simply smiling, he was grinning from ear to ear. He looked so happy it was almost beyond words, full of joy and hope. Lord Voldemort almost couldn’t believe how much he liked seeing that expression on the boy’s face. “Thank you, Tom.”_

Without warning, Lord Voldemort awoke in his dark bedroom, alone and confused.

“Why would he thank me?”

***

“The Werewolf Dark Creature Bill has failed. It failed thanks to Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. And do you know who voted in favor of that ridiculous bill? Dark Wizards. Dark Wizards who want to maintain the status quo of having wizards at the top and half breeds at the bottom. Dark Wizards who are loyal to Voldemort. So, I implore you to see reason, see who really has your best interests at heart.”

Remus was standing in a large glade deep in the northern woods, with dozens of werewolves, young and old, listening to his speech. Erwin Sykes had kept his end of the bargain and spread the word to his pack and others. He told them there was a wolf willing to stand up to Fenrir Greyback. There could be another way, besides following the will of an evil dark lord.

Some of the assembled werewolves looked apprehensive, even downright skeptical. Others looked hopeful. Remus tried to reassure them all.

Before he could continue his speech, one man with dark skin, a leather trench coat, and long dreadlocks waved a copy of the Daily Prophet for all to see. “You think we can’t read, Lupin? You’re not the only one who knows things. A lot of Dark Wizards voted for that bill, sure, but so did a lot of Light Wizards. It says here that it was mostly ministry officials pushing for it. The witch who proposed it works for Scrimgeour. Why should we trust Dumbledore if he’s working with the same ministry that wants to hunt us down like dogs? None of us trusts this You-Know-Who fellow, but at least he’s promising change.”

There were a few nods of agreement. The werewolves were skeptical of Voldemort, but they all knew for certain that they didn’t like the Ministry. “You’re right,” said Dora, stepping out from behind Remus. She was maintaining her nymph-like disguise with purple eyes and pointed ears. “The ministry officials are trying to take away whatever rights you have left. Some of them would round you up and put you in a bloody kennel if they had it their way, maybe even put you down for good. But they haven’t. They can’t. They’ve been trying to do that for decades, and they’ve never been able to. Because despite what the Ministry would like to think, wizards aren’t all powerful, and they don’t have complete control over all the other magical creatures.”

Some of the werewolves puffed up their chests, looking proud that they had thwarted the Ministry officials for years. Others looked terrified at the reminder of what was at stake. Remus continued where Dora left off. “Right now, the Ministry of Magic is like a zoo that’s trying to round up and tag all the magical creatures and half breeds, but it’s a zoo that’s being run by pixies with their heads cut off. They’re all just flying around making a lot of noise and not doing anything. Right now, all of you are relatively safe to live quiet and peaceful lives in the forests and on the outskirts of muggle villages.” There were some nods of agreement.

Remus took a deep breath. “But Voldemort and his followers are not pixies. They are dragons, and they will burn down everything in their path. Voldemort wants complete control over all creatures in Britain. If he is allowed power, there will be no place safe from him. There will be no peace. There will be no quiet. And if he decides he doesn’t need you anymore, he’ll do a lot worse than lock you up.”

The few people who had brought children, clutched them closer and shuddered. Another man stepped forward, this time one with white hair and shrewd eyes. “How do you know that? What makes you so sure the Dark Lord would definitely turn on us? Greyback’s insisting that the Dark Lord has promised all werewolves more freedom. More rights than the Ministry ever did.”

This time, Erwin spoke up, finally having lost his patience. “I heard what Greyback said, same as did you, Thorne. That Dark Lord is promising us werewolves the right to fight a damned war for him. The freedom to hunt down muggles without care.” Erwin spat at Thorne’s feet. “If you really want the freedom to fight someone else’s war and kill someone else’s enemies, then you can take it and shove it.”

Someone else spoke up then, this time a middle-aged woman with three children sitting beside her. “What if we don’t want to fight anyone? What if we just want to be left alone? Are we going to be punished for staying out of this? Lupin, you said Albus Dumbledore wants our support, but what does that mean? Does he want us to fight for him instead?”

Remus could feel his heart breaking for her, and the other mothers there who reminded him so much of Molly Weasley. “I mean, if you’d like to fight for our cause, we could certainly use more support. But no, of course he’s not expecting everyone to pick up arms for him, especially if they are just looking to protect their families. His concern, my concern, is that you _don’t join Voldemort and Greyback_. We don’t want you to be misled into thinking they’re fighting for your rights. They _do not_ have your best interests at heart.”

“Oh, is that so?” A deep, rumbling voice spoke out over the whole clearing. It was almost more growl than speech, and it carried easily over the now silent crowd. When Fenrir Greyback stepped out from the treeline, all but a few werewolves slunk back in fear and submission. “Dumbledore’s little pet is claiming that I’m not fighting for the best interests of werewolves? That’s rich coming from someone who’s more lapdog than wolf.”

Remus stood his ground, and Dora stood beside him. It was Erwin who spoke first, though. “What are you doing here, Greyback?”

“Shut your mouth, Sykes, before you piss me off even more than you already ‘ave.” Greyback snarled in Erwin’s direction, but the gruff man did not avert his eyes, he only squared his shoulders and glared back. Erwin Sykes was an Alpha of his own pack, after all.

Greyback looked unimpressed by the bravado. “I knew you’d gone soft, Sykes, but I figured you was at least a wolf where it counted. Maybe not. I’d rip out your throat for this betrayal, but then I’d be stuck with your pathetic pack. And I don’t ‘ave time for a bunch of little whelps, and useless old geezers, and females who spend more time pregnant and nursing than doing anything bloody useful.”

The woman who reminded him of Molly Weasley, bristled at that. She looked like she wanted to say something, but wisely thought better of it.

Erwin Sykes spoke instead. “Everyone who’s here only came because I asked them to. If you’re going to teach anyone a lesson, it’s going to be me.”

“Oh, you’re all gonna to learn a lesson today.” Greyback curled his lips back into a fierce smile. Lupin could see the teeth had been filed into sharp points. “But I ain’t fightin’ some old wolf who’s past his prime. I’m gonna show you all what the other side has to offer. I’m gonna show you just how weak they really are.” He turned and faced Remus head on. “Hey boy, you remember me?”

It was the face of his nightmares, but Remus wasn’t a six-year-old boy anymore. His wand was out in an instant, and without a thought he took up a dueling stance. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Dora and taken a step back and was in a support position of her own.

Greyback simply glared at the wand, making no move to reach for his own. “Wolves don’t fight with wands, boy. You’d know that if you ‘ad stuck with your own kind, instead of hiding out in that wizard school.”

The alpha was trying to goad him, but it wasn’t going to work. “If you don’t want to fight with a wand, Greyback, that’s your prerogative. However, I choose to use every weapon in my arsenal.”

The alpha narrowed his eyes, but again made no move to attack. “Did Dumbledore teach you those big words at that fancy school of his? What else did he teach you I wonder. How to sit? Heel? Roll over?” He gave another snarling laugh. “Do ya see this?” he called to the crowd at large. “He doesn’t even know how to fight like a wolf! He’s a damned wizard just like the rest of ‘em. Is that who you want to throw your lot in with? A trained pet who doesn’t run with a pack? Doesn’t hunt? Doesn’t know wolf magic?”

Remus gripped his wand like a lifeline. At first he had thought Greyback was trying to trick him into fighting hand-to-hand, so he could rip him in two. Now he realized that he had played right into Greyback’s hand. Remus had unconsciously demonstrated to the other werewolves that his first inclination was to fight like a wizard, not a wolf. That wasn’t going to make him lower his wand though. It was too late to change their opinion now, and he wasn’t stupid enough to think he stood a chance against Greyback without his wand.

“I’m here because I care about these people.” Remus kept his voice level and calm, the opposite of Greyback’s feral bark. “I’m here because I’m not afraid to take a stand against Voldemort. You’re right that I don’t hunt, and I don’t know wolf magic, but I have magic of my own. I’d be more than happy to demonstrate it, if you like. And I absolutely have a pack. Dora here is part of it, and so is Albus Dumbledore. So, if you want to keep yammering on about how weak I am, by all means continue. But if you actually want to prove a point, I’m right here. Let’s see who’s really stronger, you and your fangs or me and my wand.”

Greyback let out a ferocious growl. The other wolves sunk down lower, some even turned their heads to expose their necks. “I told you I ain’t fightin’ you with a wand. It’d be over too quick. I want to enjoy it when I tear you apart.” Greyback’s words were fierce, but Remus saw the way his eyes flickered nervously to the wand once again.

Greyback was the strongest werewolf in Britain; he could easily tear Remus apart limb from limb. But the alpha probably never attended any proper school, and even if he knew the basics of how to use a wand, he certainly would never have had any formal training. Greyback probably wasn’t as good at dueling as Remus, and he knew it.

Before Remus could take advantage of the situation, Greyback turned on his heel and started marching back toward the treeline. Remus wasn’t about to hex someone behind their back, at least not with so many witnesses watching him and judging him. “You all saw it,” Greyback called over his shoulder. “He only wants to fight if he can use that little twig of his. He’s not a real wolf. He doesn’t know our ways and he’s not one of us.”

Before he was completely out of sight, the imposing figure gave one last dire warning. “Now if you’re too weak or scared to fight with me, then at least stay the hell out of my way. But if you throw in your lot with this mongrel and his little pixie friend there, you’ll be makin’ more than one powerful enemy.” With that, he snatched his wand from his pocket and disapparated away.

“Who’s the weak one?” Dora shouted at thin air. “The one who stands his ground with his friend and his weapon, or the one who scampers off because we didn’t immediately cow to his demands?” Some of the wolves looked impressed by her words. Others were clearly looking at Remus like he was a traitor to their cause.

“We’d better get out of here before Greyback comes back with friends,” Remus whispered.

On the one hand, he felt they had made a fairly good impression. He’d given the werewolves something to think about. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but think Greyback had a point. Remus was more of a wizard than a werewolf. He didn’t really understand their culture or their way of life. Maybe he’d have to work on that if he was ever going to change any minds.

 


End file.
